


Love Lost

by cge0361



Series: Ocimene [10]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), Psychic Abilities, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-09-14 09:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 211,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9174043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cge0361/pseuds/cge0361
Summary: A gardevoir will go to the ends of the earth to do right by her master.





	1. Concessions

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 1: Concessions.

* * *

  
Two humans and three Dark-types, approaching from the east.

A gardevoir used her psychic powers to awaken the ralts that slept in her arms and against her breast with a message: “It's time to run again.” She teleported herself alone to a high tree branch and looked across the canopy. Lake Muramis would make a natural barrier since she could glide above the water's surface, but if they carried surfing pokemon, that would not matter. She needed something that could discourage them, like human eyes that would summon authorities. The city lights of Linalool were too far away; these trappers would cut them off. She teleported down and took up her daughter again. East to Rennin felt like her best option.

Underbrush slowed her progress. She relied on telekinesis to help push it out of the way since her arms were occupied. A faint flash made her check behind herself. Another flash, from a burst of flame. Fire from a Dark-type, most likely houndooms literally blazing a trail.

She covered a mile before losing enough ground that one of the men ordered his favorite dog to rush ahead and attack. It seized her by her skirt and tried to pull her down by clawing his way up, digging his claws through the membrane and biting her just beneath her dorsal sensory horn while exhaling flame. Shifting her daughter to her right arm, with a vocal outburst she swung her left palm back behind herself. Crackling with electricity to paralyze the houndoom, she stunned it long enough to let her telekinetically sever a small branch from the nearest tree and bring it down upon the dog's curled horns.

The gardevoir and her daughter continued fleeing as the dog's owner flicked the locking tab off of a healing spray. The other man and his bitch took lead of their chase.

Peering over her mother's shoulder, the ralts focused on the man pursuing her. She saw him raising something in his hand. Connected with her daughter's mind, the gardevoir recognized it as a weapon and turned to face him, sacrificing precious distance by stopping. She raised her palm when she felt his mind become satisfied with his aim. With a slight push to one side, his tranquilizer dart harmlessly whizzed by both pokemon's heads. Both the shooter's bitch and the other man's second dog surged forward on command. The gardevoir spun about and gazed forward, hoping to isolate a teleportation target. She caught a hint of a roof through the trees a hundred meters away. It would have to do.

She stumbled when they re-materialized and almost slipped off of the roof's age-loosened shingles. Panting heavily, she sat and struggled to recover her composure. The leap depleted what remained of her stamina. Rennin was still miles away; reaching out with her mind, she could feel its pokecenter's teleportation reception room's silver markers. Maybe she should have used them. She hugged her daughter tightly as she started moving again, gliding from the top of the abandoned cabin but being pulled by a stronger gravity than she would have liked; she was too weak now to fully resist its pull. No, if she went there, they would both be taken into custody. Were they of undesirably common species they would surely be released, but not her kind and especially not her daughter's kind—she would get ‘placed.’

Carlos exchanged his dart gun for his telephone. “We got a problem, Mr. Max. She popped somewhere out of sight and we've lost the trail.”

“Good. A long teleport is an act of desperation. Onyx will fly over the area. You keep moving and when Onyx reports, I'll adjust your trajectory.”

The gardevoir re-connected with her daughter's mind and tried to comfort her as she was becoming anxious. They had never before needed to run this far for this long. She really wanted to calm her with a promise that everything would be alright, but that was impossible. She knew that everything would not be alright, and the ralts knew her mother's mind too well not to recognize a fabricated emotion.

By the time the gardevoir came within sight of Rennin's city limits, she was so focused on keeping her daughter calm that she did not even notice the shadow of a murkrow passing overhead. She racked her brain to remember how humans laid out their communities with the goal of plotting a path that would maximize distance, minimize travel time, and keep her and her daughter from being noticed while forcing the poachers to reveal themselves. It would not be easy.

A nondescript truck outfitted for off-road travel was waiting for the men when they emerged from the forest where it was divided by Route R–L's automotive path. The hunting party leapt into the back and the vehicle tore away, headed westward. Its driver, Maximilian, shouted through the cab's opened rear window. “Onyx spotted her going to Rennin. I'm dropping you off at the welcome sign. Lose those weapons; if you meet up with Johnny Law, you're just trainers looking for nocturnal species as long as you've only got pokeballs and flashlights on you. Mister Well isn't going to be contributing anything more than what will cover a trespassing charge to your legal defense fund if you screw up.”

* * *

  
Acting as though he were actually tired, Joe bade his father goodnight.

James replied, “See you in the morning,” and selected a film to view during the period between now and the nightly news, although he never tuned in for that. He saw no sense in hearing news at a time of night when your only response will be to go to sleep nonetheless.

Joe lay in his bed silently and watched the glowing gap between the bottom of his bedroom door and the top of his bedroom carpet till light no longer reached through it. His father turned off the living room lights whenever he put a film on, granting Joe an opportunity to play a video game, sans sound, safely for about an hour. When the film ended, Joe's room would receive a final inspection as his father retired to his own bed. That timing was about right, as the boy tried staying up later in the past and paid for it when morning came; not only by suffering exhaustion, but by bringing his nocturnal antics to his father's attention.

Any sound that was not a faint click coming from his controller's contacts was a potential alarm that would require Joe to assume an appropriately restful appearance in as few as five seconds, unlikely as it was that his father would check on him before the film concluded. It was faint and distant, but Joe's state of heightened awareness detected a noise. His reflex to turn off the screen and leap into bed failed to trigger, though, because this disturbance was happening behind his home.

Joe approached his eastern window and saw nothing noteworthy beyond its glass; just a waning gibbous moon hanging above a number of stakes strung with faint pink polyethylene ribbon that indicated where a swimming pool was to someday be constructed once the necessary funds could be secured. The ribbon was once a bold red, before a combination of direct sunlight and indirect procrastination left the tape to fade beneath a couple summers' suns. Joe intended to resume his game, but the noise returned and on second glance he noticed a shaking within his home's southern hedge row.

Opening his window, and then leaning out through it, Joe looked to his right and witnessed a gardevoir's milky-white face emerging slowly through the bushes. He noticed three unusual things about this pokemon. First, that it was looking behind itself, apparently concerned that it was being followed. Second, that it was seriously injured, with blood splattered across its limbs and body and running in thin streaks down the dress-like portion of its flesh. Third, that it was cradling in its arms a ralts of quite uncommon appearance. Even beneath pale moonlight, Joe could tell that its hair was a cerulean blue, and that its sensory horns were a turquoise green.

The gardevoir crossed Joe's backyard with gentle steps, attempting to make no unnecessary sounds as it walked, apparently unable to levitate as its kind often could. It was not paying much attention to the house, but sensed Joe's presence after he reacted with startled concern when the gardevoir, looking back once again, tripped and fell over one of the destined pool's survey lines. Lying almost flat on the ground, elbows dug slightly into the soil where its arms protected the ralts from most of their fall's force, the pokemon quickly turned to face in Joe's direction and noticed a little light that emanated from his video game's screen.

As the ralts gathered itself up after its tumble, Joe sought to hide. However, his effort proved futile as a Psychic-type did not need to see him to force a telepathic link into his mind; it already knew exactly where he was. He felt the gardevoir's presence strengthen until it became dizzying and confusing, seeming to spread throughout his entire brain. Once it intensified enough to rival the worst headache that Joe had ever endured, the sensation stopped and in his mind he heard only silence for a moment before the pokemon transmitted a message to him. It did not speak so much as force Joe to think of, and hear, the words that it selected.

“Forgive me for doing that to you. You are too young, but I see no other way to protect her. Take care of her for me, do your best; I can promise she will always be there for you.”

The gardevoir placed its hands over the ralts' horns for a moment. The ralts seemed to struggle and panic briefly before calming and looking down at the grass. With tears welling in its eyes, the gardevoir concentrated and teleported the ralts onto Joe's bed before limping away.

As Joe turned away from his window and looked at the ralts that now sat upon the foot of his bed, timidly drawing her limbs against her body, he felt the gardevoir enter his mind one last time.

“Shut your window, hide her from view, and pretend to be asleep. They will follow my trail and pass her by.”

The gardevoir seemed to gather a second wind and finished crossing Joe's backyard, mantling the barrier that stood between his father's property and his northern neighbor's. As it fled, it no longer bothered to look behind itself.

Joe shut his window, turned off his game, and beckoned a very reluctant ralts to join him near the head of his bed. Her reluctance evaporated when they both heard the sharp bark of a houndoom informing its master that it had re-discovered its quarry's trail. Joe held her like a doll and drew his covers over their bodies. Together, they endured two minutes of nervous suspense before noises from the bushes announced the arrival of a pair of poachers and a trio of houndooms.

Both male houndooms were eager to follow a trail of blood leading across Joe's backyard, but the female stopped near a survey stake and sniffed the air. She looked at Joe's window and growled lightly, hoping to get her master's attention. Carlos approached Joe's window and shined a light inside, but there was nothing alive within but some sleeping kid. He hastened to rejoin his partner, and the female houndoom slowly followed behind him.

The houndoom understood. She knew in her heart that if she had a pup to protect and was being pursued, she too would make the hard decision to draw the danger away at a cost of abandoning her offspring and gambling her own life against highly unfavorable odds. The blood on the grass was warm, fresh, and strong; the other houndooms were too enthralled by their chase and a dream of bringing down the green gardevoir to notice as she had that their true target, the blue ralts, could be smelled faintly in the bushes, and strongly where the grass was crushed and more-heavily stained, but could not be detected at all beyond that point. Feeling a tiny sensation of sympathy, she decided against making any further effort to communicate her deduction to her master.

Creeping relief was the only sensation that Joe and the ralts in his bed felt as they lay still and listened to the commotion outside fading northward. One distant voice, probably belonging to Mr. Finnegan, hollered out, asking, “What's going on out there?” and warning, “You best be getting off of my land!” Even after the commotion was gone, the pair still lay still, too nervous to move, until Joe heard his father carefully open the bedroom door.

“Dad, I have a question,” Joe asked.

James exhaled softly. “You're supposed to be asleep.”

“I got woken up. Some guys were in the backyard with dogs.”

“I heard them, too. They've moved on. Go back to sleep.”

“Dad, I have a question.”

James exhaled sharply. “Make it fast.”

“If I wanted to get a pokemon, would that be okay?”

“Most of those things are pretty dangerous, and you know how I feel about kids making them fight. If you're going to get one, you're going to wait until you're old enough to take care of it right.”

“I don't want her to fight. I just want to take care of her.”

James held his breath for a second. “Take care of her? Okay, what are you trying to question me into?” He turned on Joe's bedroom light and saw a ralts in his son's bed, covering its face to guard against sudden illumination. It was dingy to say the least, and had small red smears on its body, although it did not appear to be injured. “What the hell are you doing with that in your room?” James paused. “And, how did you find one of those?” He inflected his sentence's final word with a strange tone, one flavored with incredulous disbelief.

“Those guys were chasing her mother—I think it was her mother—through our backyard. I looked outside and she saw me and told me in my head I had to take care of her.”

James thought over his son's story. “I guess that would explain why those guys were trespassing all the way down the block. Okay, but just for now. We'll find out who it belongs to and get it where it needs to go. And, don't keep it in your bed. I'll make up something to put it in for tonight. The last thing I need is my kid getting mixed up with pokemon.” James completed his sentence after he left his son's room. “Especially that kind.” When James returned a few minutes later, he had with him a shallow plastic crate designed to carry bottles of soda, an old pillow, and a towel to cover the lot. “There, it can sleep on that. Now, you get to sleep. It's way past your bedtime.”

Joe carried the ralts across his room and placed her upon her new bed. She climbed off and started wandering around the room the second that Joe turned away to switch off his light. He replaced her and tried to instruct her to sleep there, but she seemed to either ignore his words or not understand them, instead taking interest in anything but her bed. Giving up, Joe crawled back into his own bed and brushed away some of the dirt that she brought into it. There were now a few stains caused by gardevoir blood that had transferred to Joe's sheets via an innocent ralts. Joe fell asleep wondering if that gardevoir got away safely, and if so, if she would come back for her daughter.

* * *

  
When he awoke the next morning, Joe felt numb. He thought that perhaps he rolled over funny and cut off circulation to an arm or a leg, but that thought vanished when he realized that he could hardly move his body at all. His eyes twitched upward. He saw a blue semi-circle slowly lean into his field of vision from above his head, and noticed that the only things that he could feel were two tiny, warm palms on his temples. His thoughts shifted to the many warnings of the perils of pokemon ownership that he had heard since he was just old enough to learn what a pokemon was, as he was now being attacked—or at least subdued in a strange way—by one. None of those warnings covered this specific behavior. He then realized that his alarm clock had not yet sounded; without any ability to do much else, Joe wondered what time it was.

The blue semi-circle continued to lean forward slowly until the ralts' body arched over his forehead. As gravity pulled her light blue hair away from her face, Joe saw for the first time her emerald eyes in their entirety. His worrying mind cleared for a moment, thinking only of how beautiful her eyes were, despite her seemingly concerned facial expression. With his thoughts shifted away from his paralysis and potential to be late for school, and toward a candid and flattering opinion of her appearance, the ralts suddenly smiled, giggled, and took her palms away from his temples. Instantly, Joe was able to move normally again. He sat up and turned back to address a monster still kneeling on his pillow.

“What did you do to me while I was sleeping?”

The ralts grinned and gestured by waving her hands from her horns toward his temples and back again.

Joe felt as though he did not sleep at all that night. According to his alarm clock, he was about twenty minutes ahead of schedule. While he was up early, it was not by enough to lend a clue to why he felt so tired. He accepted the time as a boon, planning to invest it in a quick shower for himself and then a bath for his guest.

When James arose, he was somewhat surprised to find that his son had beaten him to their bathroom. “You're up a little early, aren't you?”

“She woke me up. She was—,” Joe caught himself before admitting that his mind had been probed by two different pokemon between last night's dinner and today's yet-to-be-prepared breakfast, “—wanting to play, I guess.”

James looked to his left, toward Joe's room. The ralts was batting the door back and forth between her palms. “Uh-huh. Hurry it up, I've got places to be today, too.”

After his shower, Joe yielded the facilities to his father and poured himself a bowl of cereal. Not wanting to risk a mess, he added no milk to the cereal that he provided for the ralts. She did not seem to think much of her breakfast's flavor, but she ate it all and got Joe's attention to gesture a request for more.

Still fifteen minutes ahead of the game, Joe carried the ralts to the bathroom so that she too would begin this day cleansed. Dirt washed away easily, but the blood stains were stubborn. Red rings marked the edges of otherwise-lifted splotches, as scrubbing forcefully enough to remove their borders made the ralts cry out in pain and pull away from him. Joe realized that despite its clothing-like form, she clearly felt with her gown as much as any other part of her body. He apologized as he reached out and placed two fingertips on her right temple to bid her to face him.

The ralts placed her palms on his forearm and hummed a gentle sound before offering her skirt to him again for further cleaning, but Joe felt that she had endured enough.

Joe checked a clock as he exited the bathroom. He was now a little behind schedule after having been well ahead. James entered Joe's bedroom, following a ralts that was dragging a soggy towel across his carpet. “I see you got it presentable. Now, what are you going to do with it?”

“You said I couldn't keep her—”

“Today. While you're at school. You can't leave it wandering around the house all day while we're gone; that would be begging for any of all kinds of disaster. You can't take it to school with you, either. I guess you'll just have to turn it loose in the backyard where you found it.” James turned to leave. “Goin' to work. Don't forget to lock up.”

Joe looked at the ralts, looking at him, looking concerned. He took up his backpack and sat on his bed to think. First to mind came places to try to hide her from his father, but that would be a future problem. He had about six minutes to leave before risking a tardy slip. There was a daycare not too far away, but he could not get her there and himself to school in time, today, and the thought of her being thrown in among a group of unfamiliar pokemon brought him to shudder. Those that naturally pick fights were usually kept separated, but things happened to pokemon in daycare sometimes, and there really was nothing to do about it.

Joe needed a friend, a pokemon person—“Percival!” He ran to the telephone and called a home three mailboxes north of his own.

Mrs. Finnegan answered on the third ring. “No, he left for school a few minutes ago. Why aren't you on your way? Yes, I heard the noises last night. Hubby went out the back to yell at them. You've got to be kidding—certainly, bring her over; and hurry up, school ain't waiting for you, boy.”

Joe rushed out through his front door with a heavy backpack bouncing behind him and a lighter ralts bouncing before him in his arms. He knocked on the Finnegan's front door and was met by both Mrs. Finnegan and Sam, Percival's recently-evolved grovyle.

The ralts was not at all happy to be handed over to a stranger yet again. She tried to climb free of Mrs. Finnegan's grasp, and shrieked as Joe exited for school. He turned back around and performed her hands-between-temples gesture while promising to be back that afternoon. She only calmed down after he leaned close enough that she could place her palms on his head while he repeated himself.

Mrs. Finnegan entered her home with a distressed ralts while Sam shut the door. “Percy's not going to believe it when he finds out that Joe caught a wild shiny.” Inside her living room, she set the ralts down beside Frankie, a mareep, who was intently watching television and did not notice the guest until a commercial came on and he turned to a nearby plate holding a few leaves of lettuce. He stared at her for a moment before consuming another portion of his snack.

Focusing to get a read on the lamb, the ralts learned that he did not think much of her, in any context.

* * *

  
The day-to-day of classes was unchanging. The only variety in the day appeared during the students' allotted half-hour of lunch time. Joe breached middle-school table selection protocol and sat with the trainers-in-training. Finding a break in their conversation about the cost–benefit ratios of various sources of vitamins in a pokemon's diet, Joe captured Percival's attention and told him the story of how he came to have a ralts for a roommate.

Seated across from his neighbor, Percival expressed his doubts, which doubled when Joe mentioned off-hand that she did not wear her species' usual coloring. “I don't believe any of that,” he scoffed.

“It's true,” Joe re-affirmed, “she's blue.”

“I don't believe it. Someone probably just dyed her hair and turned her loose to make a fool of a sucker.”

“Can their spiky things be dyed, too?”

“What? No.”

“Well, hers are green, so they must have used too much dye.”

Terrance, seated beside Joe, interjected. “Yeah, maybe someone put a bunch of food coloring in her water dish. Anyway, if you don't want a silly-looking one, I'll trade you for it.”

Percival hung his head. “Joe, if you aren't just screwing with us, you don't want to trade her for anything.”

Joe drank his orange juice. “Well, you can see for yourself after school. I left her with your mom so she wouldn't be alone all day. Dad was trying to convince me to release her in the backyard.”

Taken aback, Percival considered the consequences of such an act. “That would suck. Ralts and a few other Psychic-types are lucky to survive on their own when they're young or untrained because they have few or no offensive skills. They can run away, maybe teleport once or twice, and use a few mind tricks, but if those aren't enough and they can't find a place to hide, they're in deep trouble.”

Joe finished his lunch and rose to discard his tray. “She's not totally helpless. I woke up paralyzed this morning.”

The table discussed that comment in his absence. When Joe returned, Percival sought specifics. “Was it an electrical sort of thing?”

“No, she was holding onto my head.”

Percival and the rest of his table spoke in unison. “Syn-chro.”

Joe asked what their joke was about. Percival hoped to down-play it. “Oh, nothing. It's just that tracers are much better for fighting.”

Terrance interjected again, continuing Percival's statement. “And, synchronizers are much better for between fights.”

Percival bit his tongue, finished his carton of milk, and left to clear his own tray.

Terrance leaned against Joe with a grin. “If you're into that sort of thing.”

Joe did not catch his insinuation.

“And, even if you're not, she might change your mind for you.”

He and the rest of his table once again spoke in unison. “Syn-chro.”

The table's conversation drifted freely thereafter, spoken in the tongue of pokemon owners and battlers and thus leaving Joe behind, until a bell sounded to signal the lunch period's end.

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Percival met with Joe again as they left school. Normally, Percival traveled with his clique of trainers intending to challenge Pokemon League in a year or two when they became old enough for open sign-up, but today he was far more interested in returning home and seeing Joe's claim in the flesh than he was in loitering at a local game room to bide time till Rennin Gym opened its floor to under-aged and provisional trainers for a few hours between matches arranged by appointment and the evening's official competitions.

As they walked home together, Joe picked Percival's brain, hoping to get a better idea of what it was like to own a pokemon. The quality of Percival's responses increased when he realized that Joe really did not know anything about pokemon in general other than that they all were alive to at least some degree, many were or could become quite intelligent, and that they possessed strange and diverse abilities.

Three blocks from their home street, the two students noticed a few men, some in uniform and others in suits, standing about within an undeveloped area that was now cordoned off with cautionary tape. Joe approached to investigate despite Percival's protest. Before they could see anything interesting, one of the men approached them.

“My name is Detective Palmer. Do you boys live around here?”

In unison, Joe and Percival answered, “Yes.”

“We received numerous reports about a group of trespassers crossing private properties in this corner of town. Do you have any information that could help us piece this together?”

Percival admitted that his father had yelled at the men. The detective turned to Joe.

“Yeah, I heard some noise and I looked out my window. I didn't see any men but I did see a gardevoir. She did some telepathy thing and asked me,” Joe caught himself before admitting that he was entrusted with the creature's offspring, “to help her, and she said I was too young. I was in bed when I heard more noise. It sounded like guys with dogs.”

The detective then asked for their home addresses and connected some lines on a map attached to his clipboard. “Alright, thank you, boys. What you've said at least corroborates the information we've received so far. If you or your family remember anything else, give the P.D. a call.” Detective Palmer walked away, returning to his wooded crime scene.

Joe called out to him as he left. “What happened in there?”

Palmer paused to select appropriate wording for his response, but immediately he realized that the most appropriate response was silence.

Neither Joe nor Percival felt much like talking until they arrived on the Finnegan's doorstep. Percival announced their arrival. “I'm home, Ma. Joe's here, too; says he left his ralts here because he forgot that trainers are supposed to always keep a spare ball around.”

Delilah's voice came from her living room's rear. “A ball would have been nice. Could'a saved everyone a lot of trouble.”

Percival and Joe entered the living room to see Delilah peering beneath the reclining portion of a combination couch with a damaged mechanism that no longer let its extensible foot-rest return flush with the front of its seat. Nearby, Percival's little sister combed a mareep's wool, giggling as static electricity frazzled her own hair while Frankie's fluff became tamed and orderly.

“I'm sorry, Joe. She and Frankie seemed to be getting along fine, but I left the room to answer the phone and when I came back, he was chasing her around. I got Frankie's ball, but by then, she had lifted up that flap and crawled inside. I got a flashlight and saw her in there all huddled up tight. She didn't look hurt, but I haven't been able to coax her out.”

Taking Mrs. Finnegan's flashlight in-hand, Joe lifted the foot-rest and peered into the recess below. “Hey, there. It's me. Would you like to go home?”

The ralts tightened her grip on her knees, hinting to Joe that he had misspoken.

“Oops. Uh, I mean, would you like to go back to my room?”

She loosened her grip on her knees, hinting to Joe that he had her attention.

“Come on, you'll be okay. I'm not going to let Frankie chase you anymore.”

The ralts slowly crawled forward beneath the couch's mat of springs and wove through the reclining mechanism. Joe withdrew his head to permit her passage, but she stopped in response. Realizing that her withdrawal was delayed, he peeked beneath the foot-rest again and saw the ralts reaching out to him with both hands. With the left half of his mouth grimacing slightly at the awkward posture required, he allowed her to read his mind again, and was thankful that the process did not involve a loss of sensation this time. Seconds later, her question of whether or not Joe truly thought of his home as hers too was answered, and together their heads emerged from beneath the foot-rest.

Seeing that this ralts was exactly as Joe had described it at lunch, Percival remained in disbelief and avoided the topic of her distinctive features. “Was she that dirty when you dropped her off?”

Holding her in his arms, Joe noticed that she now wore many streaks of gooey lubricant from the chair's mechanisms. “No, I gave her a bath this morning. I guess she needs another, now.” He looked downward and to his left when he felt a gentle bump nudge his knee.

Frankie bleated softly. His noise was meaningless to Joe, but the ralts replied with a strange sound that may have been in the same family as a raspberry.

* * *

  
When James returned home, he heard noises coming from his son's room and water running in the bathroom. He checked the bedroom first to find Percival playing a video game. “I see the rule, ‘No friends over before I come home,’ is in full effect.”

“Sorry, Mr. Rainier. Joe doesn't know very much about pokemon, so I offered to help him out.”

“Help shouldn't be needed. I'm driving him across town to the Pokecenter so he can drop it off. I'm sure they'll find it an owner.”

“Not a good one. When something as valuable as a shiny comes into the adopt-or-release pool, there's usually someone on the inside ready to sneak it out the back door and into the hands of a hoarder for fast cash. And, when that happens, being in ball stasis forever is kinda the best they can hope for. My uncle says a lot of them are weird people.”

A slow exhalation preceded James' response. “I know. That's not my problem. See yourself out, Percy.”

Percival turned off the game and departed as instructed.

James walked to the bathroom door. “Son, are you in there with it again?”

Joe's reply was muffled and distorted by both a shut door and a running shower. “Yeah, I'm cleaning off grease. She got messy again.”

“Well, hurry up. We're driving across town in a minute.”

Drying the ralts' hair took a little longer than it should have because she kept holding a worn bar of soap against the top of her head, making it look like she had three green horns instead of two, mostly to amuse a ralts performing the same antic in the bathroom's mirror.

* * *

  
Joe had nothing to say to his father between being informed that he was to dispose of the ralts and his walking inside Rennin Pokecenter.

James addressed a woman behind a counter. “Ma'am, we're here because this pokemon showed up at my home and we want it gone.”

The young lady behind the counter seemed shocked. “You don't want to keep that pokemon? I haven't worked here for very long, but I've never seen someone wanting to release a shiny. What's wrong with it?” Clara reached toward a rack of informational hand-outs and withdrew one to offer to James. “If it's a disciplinary problem, we can sign you up for some classes that teach both pokemon and their owners to—”

James was not distracted. “We want it gone.”

Clara looked at their three faces and realized that she was hearing a royal We. Her voice faded. “Okay, we'll take it off of your hands.” Clara pressed a call button, summoning a staff member to come and carry the ralts to the center's rear chambers.

James expressed some irritation when Joe raised the ralts up so she could place her hands on his temples and read his mind. She began to fuss as she had when her parent abandoned her, and continued to fuss, as there was no calming promise of someone to care for her this time. Despite her panicked grasping at his shirt, Joe reluctantly relinquished her to the attendant—Chad, according to his name-tag—who accepted her with a crooked smile.

Joe's mood shifted from disappointment to frustration. “Why couldn't I keep her, dad?”

“Because you're not ready for that responsibility.”

“You keep saying that to me about things. When will I be? Lots of kids younger than I am have pokemon. Percival got Sam from his uncle when he was like, six.”

“I don't want one in my house.”

“I think you're punishing me, and her, because you're scared of—”

“You watch your mouth, young man!”

James' outburst drew attention from the center's patrons, attention that Joe knew he could use to his advantage. “Young man, but, not man-enough to take care of a pokemon. Because Mom left us, you said I was going to have to take on some adult responsibilities early and you've criticized me every time you've thought I've been too much of a kid, but now that I actually want to take on more responsibility, you shoot me down.”

James was thoroughly flushed, but could not think of any good response than admitting that he did not want his son to become a trainer; an argument that would most likely draw their now-growing audience into supporting Joe's side of the matter if either.

* * *

  
Chad set the ralts on an exam table and called an associate on his cellular telephone while an intern began performing a basic physical. “Yeah, it's me. You won't believe what some idiot just dropped off. Female ralts, shiny, unregistered. No shit—probably. Hey, is she ‘intact?’ ”

The intern shoved the sitting ralts over onto her back and peeked beneath her skin, lifting the skirt out of his way with a tongue depressor. He spoke with clinical distance. “Yep, mint condition.”

Chad's smirk grew a little bit sharper. “Get on the horn with your preferred buyers and set them up for an auction. We're going to pay all our bills for the month with this one.”

The intern stepped away for a moment to prepare a few injections. The ralts gracefully stood on the examination table and leapt to the backrest of the chair that Chad sat in, while he entered false information to ensure that there was no record of a shiny ralts being dropped off today; instead, some common species that would be released into the wild without administration first considering placement for. She landed without applying any pressure on the chair, despite not knowing how to do that or even that she could, and gently placed her palms on his temples.

Chad did not notice her while she passively monitored his thoughts, but after she probed him for more information about what he intended to do to her, he became alert to what she was doing to him and he swatted her away with a spastic swing of his right arm. She shook off the impact of landing on the floor, darted between Chad's legs as he attempted to grab her, and bolted through the doorway.

* * *

  
James pointed toward the automatic doors, as if Joe needed to be reminded of where the exit was. “I'm not going to argue with you about this. Get in the car!”

Four steps along the way, a loud crash emanating from the rear hallway drew everyone's attention. A blue-haired ralts, panting and babbling as it ran, burst into the lobby and pounced on Joe, clambering up his clothing.

“What's wrong?” Joe asked, as he tried to position his arms to support the pokemon that was apparently about to climb onto his face. As soon as he got a hold on her, she slapped her palms to his temples and showed him what was wrong.

James called out, “Hey, someone help me get this thing off of him!” as he tried unsuccessfully to pull the ralts' arms away, assuming that the ralts was attacking his son. Clara cheerfully assured James that the ralts' behavior was much more likely a form of communication than a form of assault. “You pokemon people are all mad!” He grabbed his son by his shoulder, planning to tear the pokemon away from him. Joe responded by thrusting the ralts into his father's face, allowing her to share with him, too, what she heard Chad say, and through his memories, saw what Chad, his associates, and their clientele do with, and to, pokemon like herself. She also imparted a copy of Joe's memory of the night when a gardevoir entrusted her to him, and how important this duty had become in his mind.

After the ralts released James, he needed a moment to clear his head. Seeing Chad standing at the hallway's entrance picking up items scattered by an escaping ralts drew from James an exclamation of, “If what she showed me is real, you're a sick, sick person!” before turning to Joe. “Alright, young man. Don't you dare disappoint me. You two, wait in the car.”

Joe and the ralts exited and waited patiently for some time, while James demanded that Clara and the sick, sick person accompany him to the center manager's office. When James returned to his vehicle many minutes later, he carried a small electronic device. As he backed his car out of its parking space, Chad exited the center and flipped off the Rainiers before stomping away and venting his rage on the inanimate objects that he passed by.

James gestured at the device. “The manager said that that thing comes with some credit on it and that you need to buy Grace a ball.”

“Grace?”

“That's what you named her, right? When I came home, you said that you were cleaning up Grace.”

Joe was about to issue a correction to his father's interpretation when Grace tugged at his shirt and looked up at him—gravity pulling her cyan hair away from her eyes—and smiled with a gentle nod.

“Sure.”

James drove around for a bit, not knowing off-hand where Rennin's Pokemart was located, but he found it eventually. While Grace, Joe, and his trainer's device went inside, James slipped a hidden cigarette and match-book out of the frame that supported his car's driver's seat and puffed away slowly. He “quit” soon after he started many years ago, but would always light one up in times of crisis.

Joe approached the Pokemart's counter. “Hi. Can you help me? I need to get her a ball and I don't know what to do.”

“Keep your voice down, for starters,” grumbled the attendant. “If there was a team-member in here and heard you shout that, he would've already trapped your pokemon out of your arms.”

Joe did not understand what that meant, exactly, and continued. “I was told this had some credit on it. Is it enough to get one?”

Ned activated Joe's device and examined its information. Issued a half-hour ago, signed off by the local center's manager himself, and with a pretty decent initial balance. Clearly, someone turned in an abuser today. “You can afford any kind you like. Since your pokemon obviously wants to be with you, the ball type doesn't matter much since it won't be trying to bust and run. The plain ones are cheapest, but you can shop for fashion if you like.”

The varied offerings bore signs explaining their special purposes. Grace got Joe's attention when she saw one that she felt looked pretty. It was white, cyan, and blue, with a rippling effect, resting amid many others of varied appearance inside a transparent plastic cylinder labeled “re-chips.” Joe asked what they were.

Ned was watching someone near the rear of the store talking on a cellular telephone, and did not reply until Joe asked a second time. “Oh, those balls were used but either missed their target or were busted open during a capture but weren't physically destroyed. We take them back in exchange for a small credit, pop in a generic third-party replacement control chip, and sell them cheap. They don't still have any special features they might have had before, but they work as well as a plain ball. Dex collectors love 'em, since they look pretty and don't cost more than the standard ones.”

Joe asked Grace if that was the ball she wanted, and she hummed twice with approval.

Ned was now looking out through the front window, and noticed a man wearing a fedora standing beside the door. He dug deep to the bottom of the clear plastic bin that contained the re-chips to reach Grace's chosen dive ball, performed a few actions on Joe's trainer device, and handed both it and the ball over. “Alright, I charged the ball to your account, and I registered the ball for you. Just capture your pokemon with this ball, give it a name when your T.D. asks for one, and you're all set.” Ned leaned forward and spoke low. “I suggest you do it right now.”

Joe placed Grace on the counter and activated her dive ball. She vanished as a crimson blur. The ball felt no heavier, but it did jiggle around in his hands for a moment before coming to rest. Five seconds later, the ball's button popped back into its normal position.

“Can I let her out, now?”

“Yeah, you're okay. Want anything else while you're here? We've got some ball clips designed for non-competitive owners. It's a lot more convenient than trying to carry balls in your pockets.”

Joe recognized the up-sell, and did not think that he would be carrying her in her ball very often, but agreed, knowing that it would be better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. He also felt a strange sense of having been done a favor. Joe selected a two-ball clip, since no single-ball clips were in-stock, and left carrying Grace in his arms.

James had been watching the man wearing a fedora through the corner of his eye for much of his cigarette. As Joe emerged, the man slipped a red and white pokeball out of his coat's pocket and activated it. Its scanning beam flashed over Grace rapidly for a second before his ball emitted a buzzing sound and ejected its button cap, revealing a red button stem beneath it. The man wearing a fedora cursed beneath his breath and turned to enter the Pokemart, but was halted by James, who took him by the shoulder.

“Hey, what the fuck were you trying to do?”

“Nothing illegal. I know, because it's my business to know the law. Now, if you keep touching my person, we'll see how long it takes for you understand the laws that cover misdemeanor assault.” He shrugged free of James' grip. “Have a nice day, and don't smoke. It's bad for your health.”

James cast the butt of his cigarette into a receptacle while the man wearing a fedora continued inside and sold back his dud ball, not that he needed the deposit money.

Inside James' car, Joe asked what happened.

“I think he wanted to steal your pokemon. See, this is part of the reason I didn't want you getting one. It gets you involved with all kinds of bad people. Not just trainers who treat their pokemon like, like what she showed us that that-Chad-guy is involved in, but with criminals and thieves and thugs. You were right, I haven't been treating you like the young man I've taught you to be, but I have to be your mother sometimes, too.”

* * *

  
After dinner, Joe went straight to his homework while Grace busied herself by wandering around the house and learning its floor plan. She found James sitting in a love-seat, watching a program about oceanic wreck exploration. Grace crawled up beside him and got his attention by waving her hands back and forth between her horns and the direction of his head.

“No! I don't want you to ever do that to me again, or you will be out of here, no questions asked.”

Grace let her arms drop to her sides before reaching to his right arm, picking it up by his wrist and the side of his hand, and shaking it up and down while nodding. He said nothing as she hopped off of his sofa and continued her explorations.

Joe's assignment was elaborate and he completed it without any time left for video games. He put Grace to bed and retired himself minutes later. He was almost asleep when he heard a dull hissing sound and looked around his room to investigate. He found Grace dragging a plastic crate with a pillow and towel on it across his carpet. She positioned it near the head of his bed, crawled upon it, looked up toward his inquisitive face, brushed her hair aside, and smiled at him before giggling, lying down, and going to sleep.

In bed that night, James Rainier lay on his back with his arms folded beneath his head and pillow, muttering to himself. “Have a nice day, and don't smoke. It's bad for your health. Have a nice day, and don't smoke. It's bad for your health. I know I know that man.”

* * *

  



	2. Mirages

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 2: Mirages.

* * *

  
“Turn the knob until the turning stops!”

With its owner's permission shouted against the front door, Percival entered the Rainier home and found James leaning over his coffee table, sorting through old photographs, binders, and folders. Passing through the house, he then found Joe in the backyard with Grace, who was perched on a survey stake's tip, leaning over its taut ribbon at an impossible angle.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” Percival said from the patio door, but he was unheard. He crossed the grass and stood beside Joe, still unnoticed. “What is she doing?”

Percival's sudden comment startled Joe and broke Grace's concentration, causing her to fall to the ground below her.

Joe scooped up Grace and held her while he replied to Percival's question. “I noticed it when she would hop off of my bed and kinda float to the floor. It's like she can turn gravity down. We've been playing with it all week and she's gone from floaty jumps to being able to stand on the edge of something with just her toe, like in really old video games.”

Percival scratched his head out of cliche conditioning rather than to a genuine need to treat a sudden itchiness. “Neat. Usually their telekinesis doesn't develop fully until they reach the gardevoir form. I guess she's ahead of the curve. Now, put her in her ball, get on your bike, and let's go. Everybody else will be there by now.”

Grace and the boys went inside. While Joe went to his room to gather his equipment, Percival dared to disturb James with a forced conversation starter: “So, what's with all these old pictures?”

James did not look away from the book of personnel photographs that he was skimming through. “Probably just wasting my free time. Not too different from what you—and now my boy—do with yours.”

“I don't think training pokemon is a waste of time, Mr. Rainier. Maybe if you raised one yourself, you would see that they give back a lot more than they take from you, and—”

“What makes you think that I haven't raised one myself?”

Percival had not planned this far ahead and was thankful that Joe appeared with his gear, ready to leave.

* * *

  
Halfway to Rennin Park, they reached a major thoroughfare and stopped at a traffic signal. Percival began working through a first-timer checklist in his mind for Joe's sake. “I'm curious, Joe; what level is Grace?”

“What do you mean, ‘level’?”

Percival turned away so Joe would not see his eyes roll and changed their destination from Rennin Park to Rennin Pokecenter. “Oh, boy. Okay, we need to get her tested, first. I hope there's no line.”

There was, but thankfully it was short. While waiting, Percival explained to Joe how pokemon development was related more strongly to adrenaline rushes experienced during combat and after defeating powerful competitors than the growth factors seen in humans and lower animals, and how environmental elements played a part too, sometimes. Ignoring the glazing over of Joe's eyes, Percival was about to begin to explain how a change of trainer could trigger an evolution when an attendant called Grace's number.

Directed into an examination room, Joe sensed an immediate familiarity upon seeing the intern that was handling the center's medical procedures. It was not a memory of his own, but one he had been given. “She saw him; this guy was in on it! Come on, let's—”

The intern interrupted. “Shh! Look, I admit I was getting a kickback to keep things quiet and smooth, but I've never abused a pokemon. If I said anything damning, Chad's other boss would've pulled a couple strings and I would've lost my career. Now, if you will release her onto the table, this won't take but a few minutes.”

Reluctantly, Joe positioned Grace as indicated, and she reacted in much the same way that Joe did until Dr. Haskin invited her to scan his mind and verify his true intentions. Honestly, she was not fully convinced, but she also felt Percival counting the seconds impatiently and submitted to examination.

Three needles injected fluids, two needles withdrew fluids, and tools familiar to a human but slightly modified for use on pokemon gave Grace a typical physical while a machine analyzed the extractions. Doctor Haskin borrowed Joe's trainer's device and docked it with a small computer terminal. The machine emitted a few sounds and printed a hard-copy report for both Joe's records and convenience.

Haskin read Grace's report aloud: “Late level 3. Genetics show some evidence of Ghost-type on her father's side, so she may have inherited capability for an odd move or two. Physical and blood work are clear. Your pokemon is hereby certified for registered competition.”

Joe picked Grace up off of the examination table. “I thought I was too young for competition in this region.”

“Without a professor, League official, or gym leader's approval, you are, but you can still participate in recorded matches against League trainers. It's not a bad idea, really. You'll know what you'll be up against before you hit the road, and any wins your pokemon manage to get will give them a big experience boost. It beats shaking bushes for pidgeys all day.”

* * *

  
Percival talked Joe out the door and continued along the ride to Rennin Park. “—the T.D. keeps track of all your matches and estimates your pokemon's development based on other trainers' pokemon's stats and how your fights go. It's not perfect, but with an occasional adjustment if you notice your pokemon react to a level rise before or after the T.D. expected it, you'll know when your pokemon are about to evolve. Wild pokemon can throw it off, but it knows the average stats for wild pokemon everywhere so even then—”

Terrance welcomed Percival and Joe sarcastically after they parked their bicycles and walked to the battle benches. “It's about time you two showed up. We've been getting tired of rematches.” At that moment, Solymar's machoke threw Terrance's pinsir out of their humble ring. The battlefield was little more than a patch of heavily-tilled soil within a circle of spray-paint. The paint had not been refreshed any time recently and was both difficult to see and broken in some places.

Joe and Grace sat on a bench with the currently not-participating trainers and watched battle after battle. Joe had seen clips of pokemon fights on television, but never attended such a spectacle as this. Grace had seen pokemon fighting for food, dominance, and survival, but never witnessed such a spectacle as this. In the wild, the combatants' minds were filled with anger, fear, desperation, and panic, but she sensed that these pokemons' emotions were playful, inquisitive, confident, and eager. When she expected to shudder as the one with the upper hand should imagine a way to deliver a fatal blow to its victim, instead she felt it calculating a measured attack that would knock its opponent flat but not risk any lasting harm.

These pokemon were fighting, despite knowing each other as friends.

Matthew whined aloud and hung his head. “Sunny-day is such crap.” He was upset because Sam was solar-beaming all of his pokemon into the top-soil.

Sam celebrated his victory by pointing at the sun that floated directly overhead and asking, “Lunch?”

Percival produced a deck of cards from his backpack and pulled out a differently-valued card for each trainer, shuffled them, and passed them around before shuffling the remainder of his deck and asking Joe to do the honors of cutting it and then flipping top cards until he revealed an index that matched someone else's card.

“Queen?”

As a group, “Nope.”

“Three?”

Percival huffed and revealed his three of clubs. “That's me, make a pile.”

The trainers gathered together the cards, some money, and a few balled pokemon that needed healing beyond the effectiveness of a field spray or revival salt crystal. Pile made, Percival loaded it all into his backpack and rode off to complete his chore.

“No slaw or I'll slug you!” Solymar called out a nagging detail of her desired meal as Percival vanished amid nearby buildings. She then crossed her arms and began to slowly lean backwards with her eyes closed. Her machoke ran into position behind her and caught her gently as she began to fall. She stretched her arms and yawned as if she were going to take a nap in the sun. “Someone hasn't gone yet,” she said with a musically mocking inverted-turn of pitch.

All eyes fell upon Joe, and then upon Grace. Even Solymar's, after she bothered to re-open them.

Joe surveyed his audience and demurred. “We're just here to watch.”

Solymar grinned and called out with a forceful voice. “Eighth rule of Pokemon League. If it's your first time being challenged by a particular trainer, you have to fight.”

Terrance simultaneously laughed and sighed at her butchered reference as she leaned forward onto her own feet, wearing a sinister grin and snapping her fingers. No longer supporting his mistress, Komo nodded and took a position near the tilled circle's center.

Joe's jaw dropped. “No way! He probably weighs twenty times what Grace does, and it's pure muscle!”

Solymar's eyes narrowed as the corner of her mouth twitched and her stance became akimbo. Her tone would slowly transform from feigned consoling to melodramatically taunting as she spoke. “Oooooo-kaaaay, I guess you can just forfeit, pay the standard wager, run home, crawl beneath the covers of your bed with your little friend, and together you can just have a big ol' cry all afternoon long about what a pair of baby chickens you are.” She even wiggled her elbows at the end.

Her taunt was effective, but not effective enough to blind Joe's imagination from picturing what Komo could do to Grace. “I don't care what you say. I'm not going to make her fight.”

Grace sensed Joe's embarrassment. While his desire to protect her was both strong and genuine, she knew that he was nonetheless feeling ashamed that he could be bullied so easily, and that it was because of her. Because of what she was and how she looked. Because he did not want her to get hurt in a fight. She glanced over at Komo, a pure Fighting-type; his mind seemed like one easily read.

Joe began to pace away from the group, although it wanted to become a run. The first time Grace was in the arms of a running person, she lost her mother. The second time, she thought she had lost Joe, too. This time, both his self-esteem and her pride were on the line. These stakes were much lower than the times previous, and still they would flee? No, she was sick of running. When Joe reached for her ball so he could ride his bicycle home, she squirmed out of his grasp, floated sideways away from him, and darted off once she touched the ground.

He spoke in a heightened and panicked tone. “Grace, what are you—; come back, you can't—”

She turned and began to half-jog and half-drift backwards, beckoning him to follow her with a wave and a smile.

Joe was not about to ride home without Grace, and returned to the benches. Solymar chuckled as she watched Grace entering the circle. “How about that. Now we know which of you two have a couple nuggets under your skirts.”

The pokemon selected their positions in the circle and Matthew signaled their start.

Komo's primary interest was in simply ending the match and led with a low kick. He knew that there was no way that his attack could have missed, yet he did not feel a thing. Levitating freely, Grace rolled in the air twice, stabilized, and landed right where she stood before Komo's foot set her in motion. Massive muscles bulged as he prepared a second attack, intending to do more to her than dismissively punt her out of the ring, but when he moved toward her, she touched her horns and he lost all focus. Komo's control over his body failed him and he collapsed to the ground.

Grace deftly hopped onto his back, walked up his spine, and slapped her palms against his head.

Komo struggled to rise but he could hardly move. His body felt heavy and sluggish. As the confusion that Grace induced in him cleared away, he looked across the battlefield and realized that he could not see her, which meant that she was behind him. Her efforts to paralyze him could not overcome his willpower and he managed to thrash his head toward his sides and sling her away.

Solymar crossed her arms. “It's a gnat, Komo. Swat it.”

Her machoke got to his feet and stomped toward Grace. He opened his palm wide and reached downward. She darted beneath his legs, but with two steps, Komo turned about and kicked her. This time, he did feel the contact, but just barely.

Grace righted herself in mid-air and halted her lateral motion, guiding her landing near the ring's edge. She could feel Komo's frustration as it swelled. She also felt Solymar's.

Terrance, too, sensed Solymar's annoyance, and decided to exacerbate it. “Matt, put me down for twenty quatloos on the newcomer.”

Solymar turned with a jerk and scowled at Terrance. She wanted to point out the impossibility that Grace could win for not losing, but she could not assemble a suitable sentence, and turned her attentions back to the field with a snarl.

Komo stood over Grace and spread his palm again. Looking up at him at a high angle, enough that the bottom halves of her eyes could be seen, she quickly glanced to her right before returning her gaze to his own. A vein pulsed in Komo's brow and a hint of a grin tugged on his lips. He'd bought it. Komo feigned a swipe with his right palm but swung down hard with his left, expecting her to run directly into it as her tell suggested. Instead, Grace feigned a dash to her right before gliding backwards and sideways between his legs again while touching her horns to target him with a second confuse-ray. The force of his now-unguided swing twisted his torso around and brought a stumbling mountain of muscle to the ground once more.

Solymar covered her forehead with her left hand's thumb and index finger. “When did you become such a klutz?”

Terrance rose from his bench seat to get a closer look. “He touched the tape.”

“What? There is no tape.”

“If there was tape, he would've touched it. See the edge of the paint line, there?”

“Komo, pick yourself up off of the ground and do something other than be a screw-up, please.”

Komo's vision cleared. He lifted his arm and noticed a single painted blade of grass beneath it. Looking up to Solymar, Komo shook his head side to side slowly but meaningfully. Rising to one knee, he offered his bulky hand to Grace, who shook it eagerly, although not at all forcefully.

Grace rushed to Joe's waiting arms with lengthy bounds, gliding through the air as though she were skipping across the moon's surface. She felt strange; both energized and enervated at the same time.

Percival arrived with a bloated plastic sack. Within it, the trainers' orders and food for their pokemon; mostly berries, but a few human-grade foods as well. “Did I miss anything?”

Solymar pushed Terrance out of her way and took her meal from Percival's bag. “Nothing noteworthy. Komo, hold my lunch while I eat it; we're going shopping.”

Komo took up the polystyrene carton that contained his mistress's meal and dutifully opened and closed it to both allow her access to her french fries and to maintain as much of their warmth as feasible while they walked to a small mall a few blocks away.

Percival addressed the remainder of his group. “Okay, now I know I missed something.”

Terrance handed out berries to the trainers' pokemon as Matthew released them. “Nah, just a little thing. Grace convinced Komo to touch the tape. That's about it.”

Percival blinked twice before responding. “She's a level 3 and she just beat a thirty-something? Joe, is she doing alright?”

Joe approached Percival. “I was about to ask you the same thing. She seemed happy and excited a moment ago, but now she keeps nodding off and jumping awake.”

“Math-Matt, level 3 ralts beats an about-thirty trained machoke. That's going to give her a few levels at once, right?”

Matthew wiggled his fingers as he approximated a cube root via logarithms. “At least six, could be lots more since she's so low and Komo's so high in comparison.”

Percival thought for a moment. “Joe, I think you should recall her, take her home, and put her in bed. She's going to be dizzy for a while.”

Joe asked Grace if she wanted to go home and take a nap. She nodded rapidly in affirmation and drifted away again.

Returning home, Joe slowed to pick up the morning's neglected newspaper and, after finding the door now locked and retrieving a hidden key, entered to discover a note on the living room coffee table left by his father declaring his absence for the afternoon and possibly part of the evening. It ended with, “you can do whatever you want, but no friends over.” As he cast the newspaper aside onto the couch, Joe smiled. “Carte blanche.”

In his bedroom, Joe released Grace, and helped her into her bed after watching her try to get in herself, and stumble, not unlike a confused machoke that Joe saw earlier that afternoon. With Grace finally resting, however unsoundly, Joe went downstairs and raided the fridge. Leftover pizza? Score.

* * *

  
Cycling down his home street after a second sparring session, Percival noticed a nice car parked in his driveway. His uncle must be paying an unexpected call. This excited Percival greatly because his uncle always brought gifts.

Mrs. Finnegan put her foot down as Percival entered his home. “No, Ulysses. The boy's got plenty of pokemon around here already. He ain't traveling yet.”

Percival greeted his uncle and released Sam, who greeted Ulysses likewise.

“Your mother is trying to deny you an amazing opportunity. Give her some sad eyes for me.”

Delilah looked away and raised her palms as both Percival and Sam obeyed their orders. “Oh no, no you don't; don't even try that stuff. Now, Ulys', if you're done trying to pawn off more of your pokemon, why don't you get 'round back and help with the grill?”

Percival followed his uncle through the back door and inquired about his argument with Delilah.

“I've got a pokemon that needs a home; serious pro-grade, too. A circuit trainer put in an order and we busted our humps to breed one to his demands, and then he changes his mind when we call him to let him know we're ready for him to pick up his order. So, we've got a lot invested in this guy and only the deposit to show for our trouble. I'm sure we could auction him off and make up more than the difference, but all that would do is put him with someone who's got more money than sense. I wanted to give him to you, since it's about time for you to start collecting badges, but your mother seems to need a little convincing.”

Percival weighed his options. “What if I gave him to one of my friends?”

* * *

  
Joe was startled slightly by the ring of his trainer's device, and rushed to his room to silence it, hoping that it had not yet disturbed Grace.

“Joe, listen, you need a second pokemon.”

“What? I don't think so.” Half-awake and looking around in a disoriented fashion, Grace laid herself down again when Joe waved his hand dismissively at her. “I've already got my hands full with Grace.”

“Once you've got one it's not much more work to keep another. Sometimes less if they keep each other company and out of trouble. I'm not kidding, come over and have a look.”

Joe checked on Grace to be sure that she was now sleeping calmly. At the Finnegan residence, Joe received a drawn-out explanation about how amazingly well-bred and battle-ready this pokemon was. However, it did not seem to be much to look at.

“All that about this?” Joe picked it up, examined it, and expressed his doubts. “I guess it has to evolve before it becomes the power-house you describe.”

The torchic he held squawked at Joe and nipped his hand. His grip loosened, and the torchic wiggled free. It landed softly and attacked Joe's legs until he lost his footing. Its assault continued until Joe was on the floor on his back, with a torchic hopping on his chest and chirping.

Laughing at the incident, Ulysses shooed the torchic aside and helped Joe get up. “I think he likes you, kid.”

“How can you tell?”

“Easy. He stopped proving you wrong before he actually hurt you.”

The torchic stood beside Joe's feet, looked up, and squawked again. “I guess he can't talk like Sam can.”

Ulysses picked up the torchic and handed it to Joe to hold again, which seemed to please the bird somewhat. “Actually, we're not sure. Some pokemon, depending on their developmental stages' physical characteristics or just how they are, can't speak until after they evolve once or twice. He should have inherited it, but we won't know for sure until you train him. I have the T.M. in my attache, so if you want to be certain he can speak, that's no problem. The disc won't be free, though; you'll owe me a good performance at the League finals.”

Delilah peeked into the living room. “Y'all better get in here and eat this dinner or I'm never cooking for you again. Joe, is your papa feeding you right?”

“Uh, not tonight, actually. He left a note, said he would be out for a while. There was some pizza in the—”

“Pizza? Boy, you better wash up and set yourself a place at this table before I give you and your papa a piece of my mind.”

After sharing dinner with the Finnegans, Joe returned home carrying a pokeball and a T.M. disc. His house was as empty as he had left it, and his father's note still lay where it had been before. He took up a pencil and appended at the bottom of the note: “Remember, Dad, you did say ‘whatever.’ ”

Grace awoke to the sensation of a familiar presence coming nearby. She hopped up to Joe's bed and found him trying to figure out how to properly confirm his one-sided trade and attach his acquisition onto his account. She approached him as he leaned over toward her so she could seemingly hug his head. Lending her his thoughts was becoming a natural habit.

Their exchange was mutual; he learned how much better she was feeling, both from having recovered from the after-effects of her victory against Komo, and from showing Joe that she was not the vulnerable doll that he had assumed her to be. He also learned that she felt famished and escorted her to the kitchen, where a couple of pizza slices lay in wait, wondering why they had been suddenly shoved back into the refrigerator after being prepped for consumption.

Grace sat kneeling on the kitchen table patiently while Joe re-reheated her dinner, and began to chow down as soon as he placed two-thirds of a slice before her. He then prepared a small glass of lemonade with a bending straw for her convenience.

Sitting at the kitchen table for some time, Joe fuddled with his T.D. in an exploratory manner. Near the end of Grace's meal, the T.D. emitted some funny noises, and much to Joe's delight, added a torchic to his roster. A notice appeared reminding Joe to name his new pokemon, but his attention was caught by Grace's entry, indicating a projected level of nineteen. A detailed display of her status noted that she should be level-tested again to verify its estimate, since it placed her on the cusp of evolution, which most trainers would want to check on. Subconsciously, Joe did not much care to think about that. It also showed an expanded list of moves she should now be able to perform.

* * *

  
Two taps against the glass of James' car's passenger-side door preceded a sudden beat of door-lock solenoids. A retired man with a cane slipped inside the vehicle and shut its door behind himself. Neither he nor James spoke a word until they were on the path to Linalool City.

James drove slowly, as wild pokemon sometimes fought in the road, and could be too distracted by each other to notice an automotive threat before it was too late to avoid a collision. “Explain this for me. A man I haven't had the displeasure of dealing with since I was twenty-three shows up out of nowhere and tries to steal my son's pokemon.”

Nigel Biltmore rotated his gold-capped cane. “It's not just any pokemon. You know how much a blue ralts will go for on the black market. Now, put one or two zeroes on the end of that for it being a wild-born shiny and being emotionally virgin.”

“I know what they're worth and what people looking to extract that value will do, but why would Simon try to steal her himself like that? He has plenty of men on his payroll. Besides, what is he doing in a second-rate university town like Rennin?”

“What do you think? Looking for a blue ralts. I'm guessing he—or one of his men—saw your kid with her and moved in, hoping to trap her before she got registered. A smart decision, since even that wasn't quite fast enough. His agents were after her for a few days before your little run-in. Hell, you should've deduced that from today's paper if you had read between the lines.”

“I was a little occupied this morning.”

“He set a couple of his thugs out with tracker houndooms to extract that ralts. A few days later, the police are picking through the residential reserve with tweezers and self-sealing evidence bags. The paper carried the story as a typical battle between two trainers and some wild pokemon in an unusual place, but that's because the paper's editor received a briefcase containing a lot of good reasons to not mention that what the detectives found were the remains of one human, shredded clothing of another, two dead houndooms, and a gardevoir that bled-out about fifty feet from the other bodies. Not that you heard about any of that from me, or anybody else.”

“What happened to the other goon, then?”

“All I could find out is that he was ‘sent home,’ so he's probably going to be getting the shit jobs for a while to pay for letting that ralts slip through his fingers.”

James pulled into a fast food restaurant to make it look like he and his friend had a reason to be driving the long path of road that wrapped about Lake Muramis. Besides, James had not eaten since breakfast and was not feeling very well.

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
The day's newspaper caught Joe's eye with a headline reading, “Detectives investigate human, pokemon remains.” He sat on the love-seat, and Grace climbed upon its backrest to sit beside him. When Joe finished that article, he looked around himself and did not see Grace anywhere. Joe called her name a couple of times while searching first the living room and then the kitchen before he spotted her through the kitchen's window, standing in the backyard near a survey stake, facing south, and holding something in her hands.

Joe entered the backyard and found her sobbing. The object in her hands was a blade of grass, painted red with dried blood. Joe realized that she had understood the story through his thoughts as he read it, and that she probably left when he concluded that Grace's parent was surely one of the three dead pokemon.

Grace never expected her mother to return for her—she had made absolutely clear that night it was certainly goodbye forever—but Grace had hoped that she at least succeeded in eluding the poachers, and together they would each go on knowing that the other was going to be okay.

Grace hoped no longer.

Joe crouched before her, placed his thumbs over her shoulders, and wrapped his fingers behind her back hoping to comfort her, but she fussed and slapped his hands away, her sobs turning into a whining wail.

“Grace, I know that—”

He felt himself being pushed backwards and fell on his butt. Disoriented momentarily, he recovered his stance and attempted to address her: as he spoke, he reached out to her again. “Grace, I just want—”

She again slapped his hand away with a shriek. Grace shivered and looked toward his window, strained, and tensed her body. Immediately it began glowing faintly, although significantly against the dark of night.

Reaching out yet again into the space that briefly shined, Joe groped within cool night air for a few seconds before realizing where she disappeared to. He turned and saw Grace sitting on the foot of his bed, her limbs tightly gripped against her body with a bloody blade of grass clutched in her tiny right fist.

“Alright. We'll talk later.”

* * *

  
Their fast food ran out just as Mr. Rainier turned right after crossing the western limit of Coumarin City's downtown to pass through the region's up-scale collegiate offering and onto a rural route that led back to Rennin. “My son wants to keep that pokemon, but I'm not going to let him put himself in danger for it. If Simon is willing to get his men killed for that thing, then I sure as hell don't want him coming after it inside my own home. My backyard was close enough.”

Biltmore cleared his throat. “It's already been registered, so a prospective buyer won't be paying premiums for both O.T. and naming rights. Does it show an emotional or telepathic connection with your boy?”

James huffed. “Yeah, the damn thing is tapping into his thoughts every few hours.”

“That's good, then. Once they pick someone to link deeply with, they'll never bond with another trainer the same way. Already, that puts her below the lowest market value that Simon would want to bother with. Get her evolved to her kirlia form, and her stock goes lower than any random ralts egg, except to trappers trying for a shiny collection, and to them, one damaged good is no better than another, so it's not like there would be a bidding war for this one.”

“You think we're safe, then?”

In lieu of a reply, Nigel rotated his cane in his palms and looked outside James' car at the faintly illuminated trees that passed by.

* * *

  
Joe gave his latest acquisition a grand tour of his new home. The torchic felt slightly overwhelmed. This home was larger than Percival's, or at least seemed more spacious, and certainly gave a more relaxing feel than the artificial habitats and clinical chambers of the breeding facility he hatched in. Joe settled in on the love-seat again. “And that's everything, except for my room. I'll show you that later. I want to give Grace a little more time alone.” He hesitated for a moment. “I hope you two get along okay.”

Joe's torchic cooed and nodded after hopping up onto the couch and settling in beside his new master.

“You act like you can understand what I'm saying pretty good. Did you inherit that speech ability thing after all?”

The torchic chirped twice in a high tone.

“Or, are you just making sounds whenever I stop talking to fool me?”

At that, the torchic scowled slightly at Joe before pecking the back of his right hand and moving to the far end of the sofa.

“Hey, just making sure. Forgive me, and I'll promise to help you get leveled up fast so you can evolve and start talking like Uncle Ulysses said you could.”

The torchic leapt across the love-seat, landing in Joe's lap, where he hopped and chirped three times before snuggling in against Joe's left arm while his right arm picked up a remote control and turned on James' television.

* * *

  
Mr. Rainier parked his car near the place from which he picked up the retired rear-admiral a few hours earlier.

Biltmore leaned heavily on his cane while exiting the vehicle. “You'll be fine, unless he decides to make it personal. Just hope that he didn't remember you as well as you remembered him.”

“Goodnight, Skipper.” James saluted his friend and set sail for home.

Two blocks away, Biltmore paused at a bus stop whose sign was decorated with an origami crane and sat upon its bench. A minute later, a well-dressed young man appeared from the far end of the block and sat beside Nigel, silently for an uncomfortable period, before asking the question he was sent to ask: “Her status?”

“Ruined for your purposes. Rainier said that she has been synchronizing with his son often since they met.”

“Be glad that you don't have to give him this news.” The young man walked back into the darkness along the sidewalk by which he came.

Nigel called out from behind him. “Hey! This is over, right? James is an old friend of mine; I don't want to see him getting dragged into anything stupid over a tarnished shiny.”

Maximilian stopped briefly to reply over his shoulder. “Probably. But, that isn't my decision to make.”

A minute later, Nigel watched a black limousine slowly drive across the intersection of the street that he faced and one perpendicular to it. He rose to his feet once again and walked directly to his home.

* * *

  
James scanned his driveway for a neglected Saturday paper but found none. He walked into his living room to discover his son asleep on the sofa, no longer able to pay due attention to the program that he had tuned the television to, which apparently featured an astronaut and three vividly-colored robots. James turned off the television and awoke his son with a stern question. “Son; would you care to explain this?”

Joe quickly realized that he had fallen asleep and that the ‘this’ in question was the warm ball of downy orange fluff snugged atop his arm and abdomen. He placed his right hand over his torchic as a defensive gesture that would presently awaken it. “I know. You didn't want me to get Grace and now I've got another one, but he's been really good and Percy said it isn't much harder to keep a second pokemon and it sounded like he was going to be sold off, like those guys who were chasing after Grace were going to do to her.”

“Don't let your wish for more responsibility get out of hand. We'll see if it is or isn't much harder, hopefully without the fire department's intervention. Hit your bunk.”

The torchic hopped off of Joe's inclining lap, approached James, looked straight up at him, and squawked once before trotting behind Joe as he walked to his room.

James gathered up his scattered folders, binders, and old photographs to clear the coffee table, and carried them back to his file cabinet, returning them to an always-locked drawer.

* * *

  
Joe opened his bedroom's door slowly and saw that Grace had at some point moved up to the head of his bed, and was laying on her side, facing the same direction she did when he hid her from the poachers. Joe set his T.D. on his dresser and his torchic on what had been Grace's bed. He whispered to the chick, “You and Grace can get to know each other in the morning. She's very upset right now; she just found out that her mother died a few days ago.”

The torchic bowed his head and ruffled his feathers, humming a low call and settling down on the towel-wrapped pillow that his master placed him upon.

Joe changed into night attire and gently slid beneath his covers. Knowing that Grace would sense his thoughts, he tried to fill his mind with whatever ideas of peaceful relaxation and comforting images he could picture before gambling to reach out to her again. He felt thankful that she responded not by crying out and knocking him back, but rather by pulling his arm a bit farther around her and coloring his thoughts with her own, accenting them in a strangely complementary way.

* * *

  
The next morning, Joe awoke feeling an urge to try throwing his old alarm clock at his new alarm clock, which had alerted him to the sun's first light with a shrill and vaguely rooster-like cry. “It's Sunday. Do you know what that means?”

Joe's torchic cawed softly, trying to communicate that it knew what the word meant, but not why today being a Sunday was significant. Failing that, it continued to nag until Joe rose and, carrying Grace with him, groggily led his pokemon to the kitchen for breakfast.

James was again last to rise. If nothing else, pokemon were good at getting his kid out of bed. He followed the sound of footsteps in the kitchen and found Joe with a box and few bowls in hand.

With the words, “I think we can do better on a day off than that,” James decided to upgrade the family breakfast from cereal to sausage and eggs. Once the food began sizzling, James stepped out to get his Sunday paper, having re-evaluated its potential for carrying useful information after last night's exchange. Crossing the foyer during his return, he heard his son call out, “Hey, get away from that burner!”

Passing through the kitchen doorway, James saw Joe's orange ball of fluff flapping its stubby wings while standing on a skillet's handle, and re-iterated the command, “You heard your master, Burner. Get away from that.”

The chick reluctantly retreated from the seductive heat source and hopped from counter to island, then island to table, taking a position next to Grace, who was not particularly comfortable with his sudden new presence. Part of that was born of a nascent jealousy. Her ability to communicate was limited, especially with concepts that were difficult to unambiguously visualize, but every time this Burner clucked, she could feel him eagerly awaiting evolution, and with it, gaining the ability to speak the words that he could now only suggest with tone and inflection applied to chirps and squawks. Another part of that was the simple fact that he ignored her presence, paying attention only to Joe. Not that he would walk into her as though she were not there, but his singular focus proved unnerving.

* * *

  
Come Sunday's evening, beneath a bridge that crossed a channel leading ultimately southward from Lake Myrcene East toward the sea sat an early-middle-aged man wearing disheveled clothing and a denim jacket, visible at a distance only by the orange star that burned at the end of his cigarette. Between his arms and his chest sat a riolu that struggled to maintain her composure. He spoke to her with a calm, steady tone.

“You've memorized all of the human rules that I taught you, right?”

“Yes.”

“And, every one of my rules.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Her voice cracked slightly.

“Then it's time. Well, after I finish smoking this cigarette and finish hugging you.”

“I don't want you to finish hugging me.”

“I don't either, but, all good things, Allie. Will you do me a favor?”

“Anything!”

“Stop thinking about twenty minutes from now, and just hug me back. If you keep worrying about what's about to happen, you will miss what's happening now. Now is precious, and you only get a little bit of it; never let Now slip into the past untouched.”

Alice turned around partially, sitting on his lap side-saddle and twisting to hug her master's torso. Too soon, his cigarette shriveled away, and she was compelled to let go, allowing him to rise and begin a short trek northward to the nearest town. Alice continued struggling to maintain her composure. Early along the way, she distracted herself with a bold protest, stiffening her legs and halting the walk of a man whose hand held hers. “You don't have to give up! I can protect you. I know I'm not a lucario yet but I'll practice aura reading day and night so I can at least sense them if they ever get close and we'll just keep moving and never stop like we said we would someday, anyway. They'll have to give up eventually!”

“Allie. They will get me sooner or later, and they won't give up. Even if it's a big, crazy mix-up, you don't kill an undercover officer and walk away after giving a sincere apology.” The man knelt and picked up his riolu, carrying her as he walked toward Zein's pokecenter. “I love you, Allie, and I wish we could make a run of it, too.” He stopped walking for a moment, wishing wishes could come true.

The riolu tried to piece together any excuse, but nothing held together long enough for her to utter completely.

“We only have about ten more minutes to be together, so even a few days would seem like being together a thousand times longer, but when time finally runs out, it will feel no less bad then than now, because I'll still be going away, and then you add to it that we failed to elude them. There's no sense in it. Now, let me hear your beautiful voice proving to me that you know the rules so I won't worry about you while I'm locked away.”

Alice's beautiful voice became distorted into a tearful whine as Zein Pokecenter came into view and grew nearer and nearer, but to the man who supported her in his arms, its beauty was not at all diminished.

Stepping onto a thick rubber and olefin mat that welcomed the pokecenter's guests, the man hesitated and knelt before setting his riolu down to stand on her own two feet. “Alice, as I walk through these doors, there is only one thing I regret. I never got to see you evolve.” He took each of her paws in his hands. “Promise me that you will do whatever it takes to find the happiness and comfort you deserve.”

Alice nodded enthusiastically, but her sniffling nose and tearful eyes betrayed her true emotion.

The man pulled her into one last hug. “No more tears, Allie. You're about to meet the next chapter of your life, and you need to make a good first-impression. What are you going to do after they take me away?”

“Run to Rennin, hide my ball where no one will ever get it, find a safe place to live, make as many friends that I can trust as possible, follow their rules, follow your rules, and make the world a better place.”

The man kissed her on the forehead, and with a genuine—albeit forced—smile, took her left paw in his right hand, and together they stepped forward.

Zein Pokecenter's automatic doors glided open with a hiss.

Hearing the doors, an attendant swiftly donned her hat and name-tag, straightened out her uniform, and welcomed her late-night guest, whose eyes looked a little too serious. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Zein Po—”

“I want to emancipate my pokemon.”

He listened to a standard explanation of the differences between the civil liberties of a human and of a freed pokemon, and how her ball would become the key to maintaining that freedom, since pokemon emancipation was truly little more than a legal loophole. Both he and Alice knew the specifics well beyond what the attendant rattled off, but it was a free refresher for Alice, and it did buy them a couple minutes more together. With each sentence the attendant spoke, he gripped Alice's paw more tightly, and she reciprocated. Soon, her grip's strength exceeded his own and his tolerance, but he did not let the pain show.

Finally, Candice's advisory ended with, “Are you absolutely sure that you want to liberate your pokemon?”

“Yes.” He handed Candice Alice's ball. As the attendant placed Alice's ball inside a hopper, the ball's owner warned her, “Don't be surprised by what's about to happen, just free her and everything will be okay.”

What he was talking about became clear four seconds later, when the machine finished scanning Alice's ball and flashed an alert on the attendant's display that the owner of the ball was a man, armed and dangerous, wanted for the killing of a police officer. The attendant stepped back slightly, uncertain what to say, if anything at all.

“I said don't be surprised. I know that the computer calls this sort of thing in automatically and they'll have this place surrounded in a couple minutes. I'm giving up my freedom, and I'm guaranteeing Alice her own.” His eyes narrowed a bit and he gestured toward the inside pocket of his jacket. “Do you understand that?”

The attendant nodded and entered a few commands into her terminal. The machine printed and issued an identification card with significantly rounded corners. “It's-s-all done, S-Sir.” She placed Alice's ball and I.D. on the counter.

“Hands up, step back and don't move.” The man took the ball, popped it open, and stuffed the I.D. and all of his wallet's cash inside, along with a tiny photo of himself and Alice taken at a mall's novelty photo booth. He closed the ball, spun the control ring to a locked position, and after a deep breath, offered it to Alice. “This is the last time I'm going to remind you. Make every Now count. Your first Now begins now.”

Alice ran across the pokecenter lobby and out through its automatic doors. She turned north-east and never looked back.

The man ordered Candice and a janitor to give him their keys so he could lock them inside a closet, not admitting that this decision was for their own safety. He then returned to the lobby, placed his pistol on the floor, and dropped the key ring beside it. He removed his jacket and cast it aside onto the public seating. He stepped back three paces, to the button of the floor's pokeball decoration, and knelt, placing his hands upon his head. Thirty-nine seconds after Alice departed, wailing sirens came within earshot.

Through his closed eyelids he could faintly see the flashing of red and blue lights. Then, he heard a chorus of cruiser doors opening, weapons becoming chambered, a couple pokemon being released, and a gravelly voice being pumped through a megaphone. He ignored it all and patiently waited for the inevitable tackle from an officer who would pin him to the ground, bind his hands, and throw him into a cage. He was too busy dreaming of a world where he and his best friend lucario were living out their grand plan of traveling the entire world, without being pursued by either the law or the lawless.

And, he was not about to let anyone disrupt his dream, for his dream was all that he had left.

* * *

  



	3. Tides

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 3: Tides.

* * *

  
Delilah scowled. Her backyard was again being torn up by a pokemon that she told her son he could not have. This was the third day in a row that Burner sneaked through holes in the fences of both neighbors between the Rainier and Finnegan properties—only one hole of which was pre-existing—to spar tirelessly against Sam. She exited her home to find them rolling through what remained of her small garden, much to the amusement of Frankie, who served as their audience and was probably laying plans for the garden's now-exposed vegetables. Mrs. Finnegan reached down to physically separate them as Burner released a powerful ember attack, scorching Delilah's leather watch band and singeing the fine hairs along her arm.

“Ah-hey! That's it, fight's over!”

Sam quit participating immediately; he felt quite worn-out, anyway. Burner did not heed her order and continued to assail Sam until Frankie bleated and nonchalantly thunder-shocked Burner into a stupor.

“Thank you, Fluffy. Sam, you're going to put every blade of grass where it belongs, and you're going to fix up my garden. Chicken Little, go home and don't even think about sneaking back over here, again.” Delilah went back inside to apply a cream and to let her son know that as soon as his homework was finished, he was going to lend his pokemon a hand in restoring their backyard's integrity.

Burner returned to his owner's backyard and found Joe training Grace again. It was not the sort of training that Burner could join in on, though, since they were working on levitation. Joe worked out a number of challenges for Grace ranging from walking across the future swimming pool's survey tape without pushing it downward to sitting on a dumbbell weight and traveling from one place to another as though she were riding upon a magic carpet made of cast iron.

Joe's torchic approached and sought attention, chirping lightly and pressing against Joe's right leg, but did not receive the kind of attention he was hoping for.

“I told you not to go over there again. Did you get us in trouble? I could hear Mrs. F. yelling at you a minute ago.” As if on cue, inside, the home's telephone rang. Joe groaned as he left to answer it, knowing that when Mrs. Finnegan spoke her peace, it always came in lecture form.

Burner watched Joe's departure until Grace, seated upon a five-pound plate, drifted across his gaze and landed beside a juice box that Joe had left prepared for her. The torchic still felt like fighting and squawked at Grace as she drank.

Grace interpreted his cry as a request that she share, and offered him use of the straw, not considering that his beak would permit none of the required suction. Burner felt slightly offended and made clear his desire to spar with her. She tuned into his thoughts and could sense that he intended to exploit this opportunity, as Joe was not around to order him to stop.

Inducing confusion in him and teleporting a couple times kept her safe for a moment, but unlike Komo, Burner was neither absurdly top-heavy nor a pure Fighting-type and with ember in his arsenal, he did not need to make physical contact to attack her.

Exhausted from preceding training and back-to-back teleports, Grace was unable to withstand Burner's assault for long. She felt rather bad for him as she fainted. The last thing that she could sense from his mind was an expectation that Joe would be happy to see that his torchic was an adept fighter, primed to lead a team. Grace knew that Joe would not see it that way.

His dressing-down for not controlling his pokemon complete, Joe hung up the phone and returned to his backyard, his typical gait shifting into a dash when he saw Grace lying face-down in the grass with a proudly-clucking chick standing above her.

“What did you do!” he shouted as he gathered her up. “Man, if you hurt her—I'm getting your ball and you're staying in there until you learn to behave.”

Inside, Joe gently placed Grace on his bed. Her dress was again marred, this time with charcoal streaks, but the damage seemed mostly superficial. After adjusting his pillow for Grace's comfort, Joe fetched Burner's ball. However, Joe's torchic was nowhere to be seen when he opened his window and peeked outside, expecting to recall Burner forthwith. Joe angrily called out to his pokemon a few times, but it was already a few properties away, and was not at all interested in responding.

Burner did not understand why he was being threatened with a prolonged ball imprisonment. Was he not supposed to fight other pokemon? He spotted a break in traffic and darted across a street. What else was he supposed to do? He soon came to conclude that he was fighting the wrong pokemon; Sam had an owner, so did Grace. He fought with both today, and was scolded both times. Another street, another block northward. Perhaps he was supposed to prove himself against wild pokemon? He wanted desperately to ask. He could feel the words inside himself, but they could not get out. At the breeding facility, he saw both a combusken and blaziken that could speak. He needed to evolve. He needed to find more pokemon to fight. One more street crossing led him to the residential reserve: a handful of city blocks left undeveloped for aesthetic and ecological reasons publicly, political and financial reasons in actuality. Amid the many houses of the neighborhood, it seemed like the only place nearby that wild pokemon might be found. As he ducked into the bushes, he swore to himself that he would not go home until he evolved, until he could talk, until he could apologize and ask exactly what his master expected of him.

* * *

  
Mr. Rainier returned home from work a little later than expected. Carrying two bags, he fumbled with the front door's knob before crossing into his kitchen. There, he met Joe, preparing a berry puree for Grace as she had started recovering her bearings. James noticed that both of Joe's pokemon were conspicuously absent as he set his sacks on the small breakfast table. “You seem a little lonely in here. Where are your pets?”

“Grace is in my room. Burner ran away. I guess I'm back down to one.”

James was unable to fully mask his disappointment on two fronts. “It's a shame—.” James omitted a “that the wrong one left” that part of him wanted to append.

Joe poured liquefied berry mush into a small cup, topped with a lid and a wide straw. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. Don't quote me, but I kinda liked that one. It seemed like it could straighten you out a bit.”

Joe left to deliver a drink that would, according to his trainer's device's guide, offer restorative effects to his toasted ralts. James unpacked the two sacks that he brought home. Most of their contents were foodstuffs and a few pieces of general merchandise, but from the bottom of one sack came a lidded box. James held it for a moment and nodded to himself with a disheartened smirk before placing the box atop his refrigerator, hidden behind a dusty decorative wooden crate filled with things that, when Joe was younger, needed to be kept out of a boy's immediate reach.

* * *

  
Grace took the cup from Joe and sat beside him after he seated himself on the floor and began playing a video game. She consumed her drink eagerly and within minutes felt healthier than she had before her bout. She crawled beneath his controller to sit in the gap that Joe's loosely-crossed legs formed, her own legs resting upon his. Hidden from the outside beneath her long bangs, she allowed her eyelids to droop half-closed, letting part of her vision be supplied by Joe's thought patterns, which made watching him play far more interesting.

An hour passed before James interrupted, visiting to confirm that his son had indeed completed his homework and assigned chores for the day. Grace sensed his displeasure at seeing her sitting where she sat. Living in the same house as Mr. Rainier meant that she was becoming familiar with his thought patterns. James was far from an open book to her, but she was adept enough to detect particularly strong thoughts and imagined visions. After inquiring about Joe's responsibilities' status, James paused, staring at Grace in Joe's lap. She could not help but let her gaze snap away from the television screen and to James' eyes when she felt his displeasure build and culminate with a mental image of Joe as a young adult, with Grace again sitting across his lap, now a fully-developed gardevoir, her right arm extending behind his shoulders and neck and her left reaching across his chest to meet its counterpart. The scene's finer details were too distant for her to glean during Mr. Rainier's flash of imagination, but she was certain that those details upset him and that her reaction let him know that she knew what he was thinking, upsetting him further.

James grumbled something indistinct and let his head hang slightly as he walked away.

Joe was oblivious to their exchange, fully engrossed in the flashing sprites on his screen. Grace ducked out beneath his controller and returned to her old bedding. The sugar rush from her berry juice was wearing off, and James' negative mindset lingered inside her own head now, where it sloshed around heavily like poisonous mercury.

* * *

  
Mister Well sat at his desk, twirling a pencil between his fingers in his left hand and gently petting a content articuno with his right, while his computer presented restricted information about a pokemon currently owned by the son of a man he recently ran into.

Placing his foot upon a pedal, one among many beneath his desk, an archaic intercom speaker and microphone activated for Simon's use.

“Maxie, I do wish you had captured that ralts yourself, before a great opportunity was lost.”

Maximilian was aghast at the suggestion. “Like a common grunt? Would you then have me dash through the doors with a meowth in tow, scattering pennies as a distraction?”

“My word, no. Our budget would afford paper currency.” Mr. Well added Grace's profile to a watch list. “Bring me up to date on our freshest prospects.”

“Dismal. The alleged zapdos egg's shell scraping came back from the lab; it's another hoax. Hunter Hague checked in by postcard. He claims to have lost most of his equipment over a waterfall, but insists that he is still tracking a rainbow.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, to which Ivana responded by bringing her head across Simon's chest to receive more of his affection as he concluded his conversation with his protege. “Assuming they did exist and weren't fabricated claims to cover his failures, this is the third time he's gone off of the grid and claimed he had located a ho-oh for me, and yet I still do not have one. Onyx will carry a message expressing the potential finality of his current mission to Hague. Have him transferred to my usual suite in Sulmepride at your convenience.”

Maximilian acknowledged with a sarcastic, “My convenience is your convenience, Sir.”

Mister Well patted Ivana on her back between her wings. “Come, come, it is time to influence a ruling. That means breakfast with Justice Barlow first-thing in the morning.”

Ivana stepped away from Simon's chair and opened a large pair of doors that led from Mr. Well's office to its balcony, which served as the only means of entrance and exit. He did not humor guests who did not travel by air and did not have an appointment, so a conventional office door and secretary's office was of no use to him.

Simon took up a small briefcase and slipped into his leather holster a unique pokeball that rested on his desk. Its shell was made from a machined block of 18-carat gold alloy, inlaid with innumerable flecks of gemstones, creating an intarsia mosaic that depicted Ivana herself flying gracefully above a vast plains, playfully enjoying the first melt of spring beneath a golden sun, that sun being the only part of the ball's shell that was not worked. The ball's internal mechanism was no different from any other master ball's, although it supplied numerous features for its captive's comfort that typical balls lacked.

Ivana knelt to the floor to allow her companion to climb upon her back. Together, they traveled west-northwest to Sulmepride Point, where a controversy during League semi-finals brought to Justice Barlow's bench an issue which, depending on the precedent that his honor chose to set, could have a material effect on Mr. Well's business operations.

* * *

  
A couple of hours into her nap, Grace was startled awake by both sound and emotional projection as Joe tossed his game's controller aside in disdain. His skill was not enough to overcome the challenge that he faced. Noticing that Burner had not returned during the interim, Grace returned to Joe's side and wiggled her arms in imitation of stubby wings to remind Joe of their absent friend.

“I really don't want him here if he's just gonna hurt you.”

Grace giggled while beckoning Joe with her right hand, before dancing around a little with her dukes held up.

“I really don't want him here if you're just gonna hurt him.”

Grace dropped her arms to her side, tilted her head, frowned, and shrugged her shoulders melodramatically with a flat hum.

Joe rose from the floor and peeked through his window. Night was falling, so James would surely not allow him to go chicken hunting by himself, and would not likely agree to chaperone Joe's search. “I guess if he isn't back when I get home from school tomorrow, we'll have to go find him.”

* * *

  
In the south-west quadrant of Rennin stood an old building, abandoned for years. A web of red tape hanging from an eccentric will, city hall, and a health regulation regarding a building material that was popular during the era of the home's construction froze that property in time, since letting it stand until it might choose to collapse of its own volition was the financially sound move for all parties involved.

Hidden behind overgrown bushes and the last shadows of night, soon to be driven away by a rising sun, a hatch to the building's cellar shuddered and creaked each time a riolu attacked its padlocked clasp with a brick. Despite a heavily-weathered appearance suggesting that it would crumble beneath the pressure of a butterfly landing upon it, the door's bleached wood and rusted metal parts resisted repeated blows. Alice paused to take a break after her fifteenth strike caused the brick to fracture in her paws. Her retarded evolution mocked her. She knew that, were she a lucario, neither the lock nor the wood it was attached to could withstand a properly-aimed blow from her fist's dorsal spike. Outside of her imagination, however, she needed some sort of a tool. She abandoned the bushes and clambered up a tree, finding refuge in its branches. She dozed the night away, awakening at regular intervals as nocturnal creatures' auras passed by.

Daddy's rules were funny things since they were worded as definite yet they had a pecking order. “Never lie” was important but it was often superseded, especially by “Never reveal a weakness that you can't protect.” That she was emancipated meant nothing if she admitted it to someone who could overpower her, force her to surrender her ball, destroy it, and trap her for himself. Carrying a small plastic bag containing a few old food cartons that were filled with of sand and pebbles to give the impression to passers-by that her owner had sent her on a morning grocery errand, Alice scouted her new neighbors' properties until she found a home where a man sat on his lawn, re-painting his fence. He had a toolbox.

“Excuse me, Sir.”

The painter replied with a grunted, “Eh?” before turning to see that he was being addressed by a pokemon.

“I know we haven't met before, but I would like to ask for a favor. My trainer moved here a couple days ago and was looking for his hammer but his tools are in the second truck load. May I borrow your hammer today? I'll bring it back really soon.” Alice swung her paws behind her back, letting her sack follow with a flourish to draw attention to how cute she was trying to be, as she twisted her right foot inward a little and flashed a hopeful smile.

After a few seconds, her hidden power of persuasion kicked in, and the man removed his hammer from his toolbox, passing it along to the riolu.

Alice squeaked like a mouse. “Master will be so happy when I surprise him with this; thank you, Mister!” She kissed him on his paint-flecked cheek and skipped away, headed in a direction leading away from the abandoned house. She would circle around after a couple blocks once she was certain that she was not being followed; it was one of the rules. Equipped with a weapon, Alice would not be defied by her cellar door's latch for much longer.

* * *

  
Percival dropped his lunch tray against the trainers-in-training table's surface to selfishly bring their discussion to order. “Thanks a lot, Joe. I had to spend all afternoon yesterday working on Mom's garden.”

Joe returned Percival's dirty look. “I told him a bunch of times to stop going over there. What should I do?”

“Duh, I don't know, train him?”

“I don't know how. He's not like Grace. She doesn't cause trouble and she usually listens to me. She's really smart.”

Solymar broke into their conversation. “Are you saying that a torchic isn't? Fires are usually dumb to the bone, but your torchic is Fighting-type on the inside, so he should be plenty smart—smarter than you are at the very least.”

Percival was still angry with Joe, but wanted to do right by Burner if no one else. “She's on to something. He can't really communicate with you and doesn't look anything like a human like Grace does, but pokemon minds don't always match the bodies they have and especially if they aren't done evolving. If you've been treating him like an animal and Grace like a person, he would be right to get jealous. Does he always cause trouble, or does he behave sometimes? Does he show you any affection?”

Joe remembered the moments before his telephone call from Percival's mother. “Like, come running up and tug at my pants?”

“Yeah. He is a starter species, you know. They've been bred forever to kinda imprint on their trainers; trainers that don't have any other pokemon to distract them at first. If you just pat him on the head and go back to whatever you, or you and Grace, were doing, he's gonna feel like he isn't doing enough to get your attention.”

“I shouldn't have let you and your uncle talk me into taking him. I'm no good at training.”

Seated beside Joe, Terrance wiped his face with a napkin. “That's okay. Starter species have also been bred to train trainers. He'll help you along if you let him.”

Joe noticed the similarity between what his father said the afternoon before and what Terrance said now, and sat silently thinking about how he could properly balance his attentions between Grace and Burner, while the other trainers moved on to discuss matters more pertinent to their personal interests. Interests that converged toward an upcoming evening-time raid of local homes.

Matthew put some finishing touches on a map of Rennin's southern side and began tracing out lines in various colors. “I think these will be the best paths.” Terrance leaned over as Matthew added annotations of where he and his friends would be, and when. Solymar leaned across the table to see Matthew's plan, and griped about needing to leave earlier than everyone else. It would cut into the third act of a television program that she watched religiously.

Matthew was unconcerned with her rituals. “I think these will be the best paths. If you're late, you miss out.”

Solymar sat back down with a defeated huff.

The paths that Matthew selected brought his friends together and separated them at various locations, rather than seeing them meet and travel together throughout the raid. He placed total acquisition above camaraderie. There were a few homes on the map, however, that he was certain to pass with a complete party. One appeared to be quite removed, adding a number of blocks to their journey.

* * *

  
Burner lay on his back beneath mid-day sun upon the roof of a decrepit tool shed that he managed to mantle earlier that morning, after greeting the sun, snooping around near the reserve until he found a berry garden to sate his breakfast hunger, and fighting against anything that moved. He intended to take a nap while enjoying warming rays that could almost compete with the fires within him, but eager anticipation prevented him from resting calmly. His stubby wings and narrow legs felt heavy and tense and anxious. He was on the verge of evolution, he knew, but the few wild pokemon he found and fought were too weak to bring him across the threshold. “If only yesterday had not been interrupted,” he mused.

The torchic finally began to relax, remembering scenes from action films he watched on James' television. Before he started filling his early afternoons with visiting Sam, tradition had been for Joe to release Burner once he returned from school, and to let him watch one of a number of films that presented exaggerated portrayals of martial artists engaged in fisticuffs. His memories began to meld as he fell asleep, and his ego attached itself to their heroes' perspective.

Sounds of an old man entering his shed to fetch a pair of hedge trimmers was not enough to awaken Burner, whose mind simply added some armor to the enemy fighters to justify metallic collision noises. Sounds of a torchic flapping his wings and legs about like the kung-fu fighter in his mind, whose outfit had become red with yellow accents to match the pattern of a blaziken, was enough to alert the old man's staravia, who left his master's side and flapped to the top of the shed. Picket's shrill cry startled Burner awake such that he almost ran off of the shed's roof.

Orson walked around the shed to get a better view of what was happening. Seeing what may have been a starter released by a naive trainer, he ordered Picket to assault the torchic and weaken it while he shuffled inside his home to find a pokeball.

Picket knew that he was much faster than Burner and attacked viciously. However, Picket was accustomed to fighting against bugs, other common birds, and occasionally a Normal-type that might try to burrow its way into a place that it did not belong; all pokemon that had not been trained beyond wild encounters with each other, or were released stepping stones for journey trainers. Burner was not only tougher than a typical dumped starter, but he was accustomed to wrestling with a friend who was both faster and much stronger than he was.

Orson scowled. His backyard was now being torn up by a pokemon that he intended to catch and the pokemon that was supposed to have, by now, pummeled the other and pinned it to the ground. Picket was relying on quick attacks just to strike Burner while Burner used ember to prevent Picket from being able to withdraw and catch his breath, and to trick Picket into blindly charging into a burst of flame when he correctly guessed from which angle his foe would approach. Orson activated a fresh pokeball and threw it beside both pokemon as they traded blows.

The ball's scanning beam painted both birds, identified both as being owned by trainers, ejected its button cap, and fused its control chip.

“Damn. Picket, that torchic's still got an owner. Go ahead and faint it if you can't chase it away.”

Picket wanted to comply, but he was not pulling his punches to allow his master a chance to capture the torchic. He was truly being overwhelmed. Resigned to not walking away from this battle without a limp, Picket hurled himself at Burner in a desperate attempt at a take-down, screaming the best war-cry that an out-of-breath staravia could. Seeing Picket's sloppy and not-particularly-quick attack coming at him, Burner too hurled himself, but out of the larger bird's path. Picket barreled forward and collided with a garden hose reel.

Orson slowly knelt beside Picket and saw that his pokemon now suffered a compound fracture in his right wing. Once he straightened his age-ruined knees to stand again, Orson took up a rake and began to assault Burner himself. The torchic was unfamiliar with a trainer battle that featured the trainer as a combatant, and fled, almost being struck by a car as he ran back into the reserve.

The old man threw his rake away in anger and shouted at the driver of a now-halted vehicle. “You should'a hit that little bastard!” He gathered up Picket, who was slowly regaining consciousness, warned him to be still and calm, and took him inside to be returned to his ball and taken to Rennin Pokecenter for treatment.

Burner suffered a head-long collision of his own inside the woods, as he became dizzy and could no longer see straight, headbutting a tree and falling over. He struggled to rise but could not control his body properly. Sharp pains jolted through his joints and limbs. As one rushed through his left wing and stopped at its tip, he felt the affected bones shifting into an arm's configuration while a row of tiny claws began jutting out beneath downy yellow feathers; a fine fluff that was falling away in small clumps as pinfeathers pushed through behind them.

He reveled in the pain of his body's transformational throes. His eyes saw nothing but blurred treetops above him, but his imagination saw the combusken and blaziken that he once shared a moment with while facility doctors examined them. He saw his new present, and his surely-near future, and thought to himself, “Just once more.”

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
“Finding Burner” read a note that Joe wrote and placed upon the living room coffee table. He entered the kitchen, where Grace quickly finished her lunch, and recalled her. Joe wanted her to help him search, but walking together would be much slower than riding.

Joe wandered his neighborhood in a widening spiral, starting at his home and working outward. He released Grace every few blocks to scan the area psychically, but each time she could provide no help. On his seventh lap, he passed by something unusual: a riolu with a blue ribbon bow tied simply on each of her aura sensors, traveling alone and carrying a cardboard box. Curiosity forced him to peek inside as he overtook her; the box contained canned food. Distracted by the mystery box, Joe did not look across the street, where a corner-property featured in clear view a backyard decorated with a small shed, numerous patches of scorched grass, and a carelessly cast-aside rake.

Soon Joe's journey carried him farther than he expected Burner might have traveled. Desperate for a drink beyond his frugality and hopeful that an overheard conversation might provide a clue, Joe stopped in at the Rennin Game Corner. There, Joe paid too much for a soda and released Grace, letting her sit on his forearm like a bird of prey and letting her help herself to part of his drink while she surveyed the room for anyone thinking about a run-in with a torchic.

She did not sense anyone with knowledge useful to their mission, but she did signal Joe to cross the room. There, he found a flip table being swept clean. The croupier collected blue-backed cards into a square plastic case that held the remainder of their deck and deposited it into a collection bin. Next he reached for a fresh deck from a dispenser. As he shuffled the new deck's purple-backed cards and began dealing them into an array on his table, Joe approached and addressed the sitting player.

“Oh, hey Matt. What's up?”

“Level seven. Four more wins in a row, I can buy needed T.M.'s.”

As soon as the dealer finished, dials beneath glass windows in the table's surface clicked and ratcheted to indicate how how many cards in each row and column could end Matthew's streak. The table did not use fancy cameras or electronic displays to communicate with its player; that left too much opportunity for technological failure. Like pinball machines of yore, the whole system functioned with nothing more complicated than electromagnets, silver-plated gears, and ratcheting tumblers. All of the game machines were old-school devices. Neither nuclear attacks nor aspiring hackers stood a chance of compromising a Game Corner.

“Are the other guys around?”

Matthew selected another blank card, and the table rolled up the hand's outstanding value. “Park.”

The croupier did not bother to look at Joe to admonish him. “Spectators are not to bother our customers. Please leave if you are not here to play, yourself.”

* * *

  
Short of Burner showing up and beginning a brawl, Joe figured that no one at the park would be of any use. Running out of ideas, Joe traveled out to Rennin Pokecenter to see if anyone there could help. He considered asking if there was a protocol for finding pokemon that wandered away, but also considered that he might be declared an un-fit trainer for losing control of Burner so easily. The issue weighed on his mind as he rode there.

Joe sat on a bench seat and read brochures while Grace monitored the room. He found the pamphlets to be enlightening, which meant that either they were intended to cover everything, or that he knew even less about pokemon than he believed. Grace interrupted his reading when she sensed someone with an orange chicken on his mind.

Orson emerged from the hallway that led to examination and treatment rooms, carrying in his arms Picket, whose wing was tightly bandaged. Joe tried to rise and approach him, but quickly felt his body be forced back down. It was actually very little force, but applied in a way that kept him off-balance. He gave Grace a confused glance as he fell back into his chair. She turned to face him and he saw that her expression was quite discouraging; the face of a ralts that sensed a strong negative emotion nearby.

The old man awkwardly took a few forms from a nurse at the counter. He spoke to his bird with a snarling tone as they crossed to the exit. “Can't fly for ten days; damn magic healing machine ought to do the whole job. If I ever find out whose torchic that was I swear to—”

Joe approached the counter and got the nurse's attention. “Hey, uh, I'm a new trainer so I'm sorry if this is a dumb question. Doesn't the machine fix pokemon when they're hurt? His bird was still all bandaged up.”

The nurse replied with a smile, which seemed rather out of place when talking about critical injuries. “It can reconstruct broken bones in a balled pokemon's stasis image, like in that case, but the cells still need to grow together and heal naturally. Until then, it will be fragile and very sore.”

A smooth way of finding out if she knew anything did not come to his mind, so Joe asked outright. “Do you know what happened?”

She continued smiling, but also raised her right index finger, pointing upward and slightly outward, wagging it gently at Joe's question. “I'm not allowed to discuss a trainer's personal details.” After a pause, she added, “But, as a matter of public safety, I can say that he and his staravia were assaulted by an owned pokemon near the intersection of Hazel Street and Rutherford Lane. If we get a second report, we'll put out an advisory to the police so they can send a trapper to bring it in and charge the pokemon's owner.”

Joe did a pretty good job of not making it obvious that he swallowed hard. Grace could sense his nervousness directly, but the nurse did not show any sign of suspicion. He exited the center and took off on his bicycle again, recalling that he already checked Hazel and Rutherford. However, it was the only lead he had to go on.

* * *

  
James pulled into his driveway and approached his home's entrance. Sitting on the welcome mat and leaning against the door was an orange and yellow bird of moderate size. “You seem to think you belong here,” he spoke, awakening it.

The reply came carried upon a croaking fundamental tone, its speaker still getting used to his new larynx and syrinx. “I do.”

James stood over the combusken and unlocked the door. “Then you belong inside, don't you?”

Burner toured his home as he had when he first arrived, with Joe's room being his destination. It was smaller now that he was larger; the upward shift of his perspective made him wonder what the place would look like when he transformed again—remembering the difference in height between the combusken and blaziken at the facility. Burner entered Joe's room with a bound and a beak's idea of a smile, but found it empty and turned about, leaving his elevated emotion behind. “Master Rainier! Where are Master Joe and Grace?”

James left the kitchen holding a can of soda and a small paper pad. “Finding you, says this note. Not doing a good job of it, since I found you first and I wasn't even trying.” He tossed the paper back on the coffee table as he sat and turned on his television.

Burner picked up Joe's note and spoke unevenly. “I thought he didn't want me around because of what I was doing.” The combusken sat opposite James on the love-seat. “I thought I had to ask him what he wanted me to do for him, now that I can talk to him.”

Channels flipped with a regular rhythm as James took another swig. “That boy never knows what he wants, and he lets the good things he has get away from him, too. Understand that, and you'll have a pretty good picture of him.”

Burner watched the stations flip by as he reflected on Joe's motivation behind yesterday's threat of being locked in his ball. Was he acting solely on emotion and impulse? Loyal pokemon trust their trainers to always have a plan, for in battle, they both have to.

* * *

  
Once Joe arrived at the intersection, he parked his bike and looked around. This time he did notice Orson's scarred back yard and cursed the riolu that distracted him. Grace was still glowing from her re-materialization as she turned to the wooded reserve and stared into it.

Joe looked down at her teal horns from above and commented, “I guess we ought to go in and check it out. It's the only place we haven't been, today.”

Grace did not seem to hear him.

Pushing through the foliage was tiring, but it was not dense enough to do more than provide resistance. Grace followed closely behind Joe, using her telekinesis to hold some vines and branches out of her way while she wove through and climbed over others. Near an old tree they discovered a small clear patch, littered with tufts of brightly-colored down. Joe found one tuft that carried a small blood stain, causing him to worry that Burner may have picked a fight that was bigger than what he could handle. Joe stood again, noticing Grace pushing onward.

They crossed Mendel and Lawrence Lanes before entering the block of reserve nearest to Joe's home. Joe tried to get Grace's attention a few times, but she did not stop walking until she entered a strange area. About ten meters across, most of the scrub had been apparently flattened against the ground or ripped up and thrown to the side, with branches littering the ground. A few trees stood within the circle in silent defiance, but the canopy above was thinned, with broken stubs sticking out of nearby trees' trunks below a certain elevation.

Grace walked around the circle, stopping in particular places to sniff a leaf or just touch the ground. After one lap, she began pushing through the bushes again. She got a short distance ahead of Joe; when he closed the gap, he found her standing still, clutching a blade of grass in her hand. There was no visible evidence that this place was in any way significant, but he had seen her like this once before. Not wanting a repeat of that incident, Joe sat against a nearby tree and waited. He did not need to offer her his sympathies for her to know that they were available.

Not much time passed before Grace walked over to him and reached upwards. He picked her up so she could touch his temples. What he saw, he could not describe. He knew that he was seeing what she saw, somehow, by standing here and touching this ground. Thoughts, sensations, hope, despair, sadness, and a faint hint of satisfaction—it was an incomprehensible mess, but Grace somehow understood it, and behind it all he could feel her behind this transmission, knowing that he would not understand it, but wanting him to at least be familiar with it—the ghostly psionic remnants of her past life after it left her in Joe's care.

Emerging from the woods, Joe remembered that his bicycle was now three blocks away, and took to the sidewalk to return to it. Grace was clearly distracted and moving slowly. He offered to recall her, and she accepted with calm resignation.

Tired from head to toe, Joe stumbled through his home's front door and walked with a weary gait through the living room. With his attention focused on the mixture of sweat and forest debris that coated him lightly, Joe did not even notice the meter-tall fighting fowl sitting on the couch beside James, watching a poorly-dubbed film that exhibited scenes of choreographed combat.

It pursued Joe as he staggered by and called out. “I'm sorry I did wrong things, Master. Please, tell me why they were wrong.”

Joe stopped and turned at the bizarre and unfamiliar voice that addressed him. Although Joe had researched Burner's developmental path, he was not prepared for the orange chick that he once carried in his hands to be what it had become. “Oh, wow. You're—” Joe was honestly struck dumb, but he could tell by the look in Burner's eyes that the next word Joe said would be remembered forever, and chose very carefully, “—impressive.”

Burner squawked gleefully and hugged Joe tight. Finding difficulty in breathing, Joe commented that Burner was as haggard from ploughing through the reserve as he and Grace had become, and suggested that they get cleaned up.

Burner sat upon the toilet's seat while Joe showered first and answered his pokemon's questions as best as he could through a plastic shower curtain.

“Master Joe, which—”

“Just ‘Joe’ is fine, Burner.”

“Joe, which pokemon am I supposed to fight with? I fought with Sam and it was okay, but then it wasn't okay, and I can't fight with Grace or you get mad at me.”

“You have to ask if it's okay first.”

“Before I changed today, a man and his pokemon fought with me. They didn't ask if it was okay.”

“That's different, I think.”

“Why?”

“It's complicated.”

“I agree. How long are you going to put me in my ball?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you were going to put me in my ball until I learn to behave. How long does that take? Do you need to get a T.M.?”

“Oh. I'm not going to, if you apologize to Grace.”

“I will, Mas—Joe. But, how long were you going to punish me?”

“I don't know. I was just mad and worried that you might've really hurt her.”

Joe finished his shower and toweled off before stepping out from behind the curtain. He then released Grace to clean her up, too. She brought fragments of the reserve with her on her feet, on her dress, and in her hair. Once Joe got Grace washed and dried off, he sent her out, not knowing how the shower's third customer would react.

“Okay, it's your turn, now.” Joe directed Burner to hop into the tub and took up the hose-mounted shower head, warning Burner as he picked a few leaves and a twig out of his feathers. “I know you're a Fire-type so you're probably going to hate this, but try to stay calm. I don't want to get hurt.”

Burner seemed incensed by the remark. “I'll never attack you, Master!”

Joe accepted Burner's promise, but he remembered many stories he had heard about docile pokemon accidentally harming—sometimes killing—their trainers, and held his breath as he turned a stream of water on the monster that stood in his bathtub.

Nothing happened, aside from water contaminated with dirt and little bits of plant matter finding its way toward the drain. After his first complete rinse, Burner demanded that he be given the shower head and, after a few fumbles with his novice and inexperienced digits—inadvertently spraying water across the room—Burner left Joe with nothing much to do but to draw the shower curtain and to read the label on his shampoo bottle. A good thing, since he had never before noticed the warning that indicated that it was suitable for humans and many pokemon, but not those that had feathers, were verdant Grass-types, or were prone to chemical allergies.

“Okay, this stuff's no good for you, so you're clean enough until I buy something you can use.” Joe took away the shower head—which disappointed Burner, who had just discovered that it had an interesting pulsation setting—and toweled him off. However, the towel was only good for water clinging to his surface. When Joe stopped, Burner instinctively ruffled up his feathers and elevated his body temperature, evaporating the water that penetrated to his flesh.

* * *

  
With the evening came bed-time. Previously, Burner was Grace's excuse to sleep beside Joe and eavesdrop on his deepest thoughts and dreams. However, a half-meter-long bed was unsuitable for a one-meter-tall combusken.

“I can't sleep here now, Joe. Grace is still small enough for this bed. We should switch, or both sleep with Master.”

James appeared at the door and vetoed that idea. “Maybe you haven't noticed that your arms have paring knives at the ends, now. One dream about those ninja movies and you could tear my son and his sheets to ribbons.”

Burner's posture sagged and he made a low sound that only a chicken can make.

James again provided on-demand bedding. For want of reasonable options, an old, thick comforter from the closet folded into a make-shift futon in the space between Joe's bed and Joe's video games.

As Burner settled down and Grace sat on her bed, pouting slightly at sleeping alone again, James commented before turning out Joe's light. “You're turning my house into a dormitory, Son. You know both of these pokemon are human-size when they're fully-evolved.”

“At least they aren't bigger than that, right?”

“Right. Since they aren't, you can spend the next few afternoons getting the storage room cleaned up and organized so they'll have a place of their own to sleep, unless you are going to start putting them in their balls at night. Goodnight, boys.” James turned off the bedroom light, and went to bed himself.

A levitation-assisted hop brought Grace atop Joe's bed. Excuse or no excuse, if her future was to be sleeping on the other side of the house, she was not going to sleep on that pillow and crate tonight for any reason short of James himself putting her back inside her ball and binding it shut. Joe was not bothered as she snaked up against his upper chest. He had not seen a nightmare since she entered his life, and aside from their first morning together, always awoke feeling refreshed. Synchronizing with Joe's mind as it sorted through the day's events, she detected a moment of opportunity when his subconscious saw fit to contemplate Grace and Burner as they would be in their final evolutions. She took command of her simulacrum when the ideas of their future forms and current sleeping arrangements mingled within a forming dream.

* * *

  
Joe saw himself awakening, and finding not the short and childlike ralts he knew in his arms, but a long, lithe, and narrow form. He felt a crystalline lump pressing against his body, just beneath his rib-cage. Grace hummed a high tone and shifted, reaching for his cheek with her near arm while slowly turning her body beneath psychically-lifted sheets to face him.

“Good morning, Joe.” Grace's bright smile and deep eyes gave him the same feeling he felt the first time he stared into them.

“You, you're—”

Grace filled the void of Joe's pause. “Happy.” She pulled his body against hers and kissed him gently on his lips; he was still stunned and did not really react. “Aren't you happy?”

“Uh, yes. But, what happened? Last night, you were… little. I thought you had a middle form you had to go through, first. And, you can't talk.”

“Not yet, but your mind knows that I will be able to someday, and that's enough. You have the disc that Percy's uncle gave you with Burner. He can talk now, so he won't need to use it.”

“Burner?” Joe sat up in bed and looked across his room. On his floor lay a blaziken, twitching his legs with tiny kicks and mumbling something about ninjas.

Grace sat up, too. Her right arm extending behind Joe's shoulders and neck and her left reaching across his chest to meet its counterpart, she pressed her head against his. “I just wanted you to know, even though your father will want me to sleep in the other room, I think waking up like this every morning would be a lot nicer. Don't you agree.”

“I think so. But, you're—” Joe pulled away a little bit to turn and face her, but his gaze wandered downward, “—like, a woman; in my bed.”

Grace giggled. “You will want a woman in your bed someday, right?”

Joe blushed. “But, you're also a pokemon.”

The weather outside Joe's window suddenly shifted from clear daybreak to a gloomy overcast sky, lowering the light level in his room and dulling the colors within it.

“Since we first met, I've always been a pokemon, and you've always wanted to keep me near you. Will that become a problem somehow, just because my body will change and become like this?”

Joe looked into her eyes and admitted, “I don't know. People say things, strange and sometimes bad things, about trainers with gardevoirs. Until I figure that out, I don't know if something is wrong or not.”

Grace kissed Joe again, a little more deeply and forcefully, while she leaned him weightlessly back down onto his bed. She settled in next to him and drew the sheets over their bodies. “Forget about people; let's think about ourselves.” She could sense his brainwaves shifting; this dream was beginning to collapse and would fragment within seconds. He felt her grasping his hands with her own and drawing them to her ventral sensory horn. “Joe, I do want to become this, and I need your help. Help me grow stronger, Joe. Let me fight for you.”

* * *

  
When Joe awoke for real that morning, it was instead a combusken on his floor, kicking the air and muttering about ninjas. Joe felt thankful that evolution apparently removed Burner's instinct to shout at the sunrise. Grace woke up to the racket of Joe's unfocused thoughts, and kissed him on his cheek while he watched his cock spasm. Joe pulled back slightly with surprise and looked into her eyes. It was not the face of a gardevoir this time, but he knew that one day it would be again.

* * *

  



	4. Perceptions

 

* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 4: Perceptions.  
  


* * *

  
Mister Rainier entered his home and gave a nodded hello to a pokemon sitting on his couch, which was returned with a terse, “ba'ah.” The pokemon in his seat was a flaaffy, munching away at a raw hot dog. Impulses to ask why Frankie was inside his home—watching his television—and why what outwardly seemed to be an herbivorous species was eating pressure-cooked-at-the-factory beef competed for a moment, but since Frankie was a mute, surrendering to either impulse would only receive a slightly sarcastic bleat in return. Many mutes humored the humans that would talk to them as though a meaningful conversation could be upheld, but Frankie became impatient with any question too complicated to answer with basic gesture.  
  
James continued wordlessly through his living room for two strides before a shrill squawk caused him to stop and look toward his backyard, just in time to glimpse an immolated grovyle fly across a window's view. He walked outside to see Burner easily lifting Sam off of the ground and sort-of to his feet amid scattered plastic patio chairs. Burner helped him inside while Joe opened his room's window and leaned outside to see the commotion's cause. Soon, Frankie shifted from the center of the couch to make room for Sam as Burner approached to place him upon it. Joe exited his room noisily shaking a can of burn spray and tended to Percival's starter.  
  
Sam addressed his opponent with advice rather than admonition. “Burner, you must be more careful. Someday, you will hurt someone you care a lot about.”  
  
Burner hung his head and nodded thoughtfully as he turned to enter the kitchen where he fetched Sam a glass of water, which seemed to immediately improve the lizard's condition. He then asked if they could face off again, later, if for no other reason than to prove that he could be more careful, but Sam declined.  
  
“When I evolve, we can fight again. Your advantages have grown bigger than my experience.”  
  
When Joe discarded the spent can in the kitchen's recycling bin, he noticed through the window that James was still standing in the backyard, fixing some disrupted survey stakes. James turned as Joe approached. “Mrs. Finnegan got tired of her yard being ruined by your and Percy's pets, so now they're ruining mine.”  
  
Joe hoped to cover with humor. “Well, the way it's taped off, it's like a combat circle, right?”  
  
James re-tied a broken ribbon. “Not for long, unless you plan to fight with Water-types. I got the money straightened out, so we'll be getting the pool in next month.”  
  
James' son lit up with joy, giving his father a rather atypical hug, vocally expressing his excitement, and running inside to share the good news with his pokemon and guests. James wandered to the side of his home and gazed into the sky, checking the western horizon for a single small cloud that always seemed to be up there whenever he looked for it. “I told you we'd have a pool someday, Nelson.”  
  
Joe set aside his good news. As he re-entered the living room, he saw Sam trying and failing to convince his right foot bear his weight. Burner offered to carry Sam in his arms across town to the Pokecenter, but Joe interceded and invited Percival to come over.  
  
Percival seemed more disappointed that Sam had gotten himself injured on a park day than worried about his condition, and recalled him into his ball. “Now that I finally got Fluffy evolved a stage—” Percival emphasized the word “finally” and scowled at Frankie, who returned the glare while casting a few sparks across his horns. “—I was hoping to get Sam started on his way to third-form. I guess that will have to wait a little while. Speaking of evolution, you're letting Grace lag behind. You said the T.D. showed her a couple levels away from going kirlia; come to the park and have her throw Komo around a few times.”  
  
“Uh, no. If she evolved, it'd—.” Joe did not really have an excuse. “It would ruin her costume.”  
  
Percival was unimpressed by his effort to demur. “Evolve the costume. You'll just need a little more grease paint and a witch's hat, which won't be hard to find.” As he spoke, a rippled glowing form briefly appeared behind Joe, dimming to reveal Grace gently hovering with a finger to her lips. “Come on, we can grab that stuff while we're out.”  
  
Joe hoped to find a better excuse on his second try, but a flashback of a recent dream interrupted his effort, drawing an uncomfortable blush to his face. Unable to turn his neck, “She's got me from behind, doesn't she?” he asked.  
  
Percival's tone was flat. “Yep. Does that mean you're coming?”  
  
Joe's head nodded per Grace's commanding influence. “I'll get my stuff.”  
  
As Joe walked to his room, guided like a horse by a ralts standing tip-toed on his shoulders, Percival withdrew his other pokeball; the sight of which making Frankie almost choke as he rushed to finish his last hot dog before being de-materialized.  
  
Joe's backpack exchanged school supplies for what few pokemon supplies he owned. Joe turned to exit, but faced a bedroom door telekinetically shutting before himself. Grace drifted around his head and tried to give him the kiss that she had showed him, but she hesitated. It would not feel the same with the body that she had now. She wanted to do it with her arms around him, his around her, and with her sensory horn pressed beside his heart. She touched his temples again and replayed a moment of their shared dream when she spoke the words, “I will be able to, someday.”  
  


* * *

  
After the boys and their animals left him in solitude, James sat at his desk and stared at an envelope for almost twenty minutes. He almost opened it many times, but resisted, leaving the corner of the envelope's flap bent outward but not torn. “Don't live today for tomorrow,” he muttered to himself. James slipped the envelope into a manila folder labeled “POOL” and filed the folder away in his locked drawer, psychologically leaving his troubles behind him.  
  


* * *

  
Despite her enthusiasm, Grace was not having a very good day at the park. Between Frankie's static preventing her from messing with his mind directly without both suffering paralysis—synchronization of which not affecting his strategy much—and his having been programmed with the T.M. for shock-wave making double-team evasion and short-range teleport dodging worthless, Grace became appreciative that he was just play-fighting with her during her visit to the Finnegan's home. Her pairing against Matthew's alakazam looked more like a fair fight, but that was because Roscoe turned their match into tutelage, instructing her in ways to focus and enhance her powers by communicating with Grace telepathically while they put on a marginally-convincing show for their audience.  
  
Burner was seeing far more success than his teammate. While the trainers-in-training's pokemon had experience, levels, and sometimes elemental advantage over him, they were seeing first-hand why circuit trainers would spend great sums for professionally-bred pokemon. As dangerous as it was to get within a meter of either a Fighting- or Fire-type in combat, bringing the fight to Burner usually worked best. Keeping a distance just meant dancing around well-targeted embers, and the longer a battle lasted, the more obvious and advantageous Burner's practically inexhaustible stamina became.  
  
Terrance dealt the cards and Grace got Komo again. Or, to be more specific, Komo got Grace again. Komo had learned to keep his center of mass under control and not to over-extend; as long as he played safe and kept her pressured, she would eventually have to take a hit, and that would end their match. His bulky hands made the limp ralts that he carried seem even smaller than she was. Joe accepted Grace back and gave her a sitrus berry after a couple gentle slaps on the cheek brought her to attention.  
  
Percival took a look around; Burner, Komo, and Roscoe were the only pokemon still standing. Everyone else's were in their balls or lying on the grass recovering. “Okay, it's break time. Let's see who gets page duty.” He dealt out the cards again and gave Komo the deck cutting honors.  
  
Solymar was the lucky winner, much to her irritation. “Way to go, lizard lips. Well, my new purse isn't designed to carry you boys' little balls. Komo, make someone volunteer a backpack.”  
  
Sensing the group's knowing that he only carried his T.D. and a few items, Joe volunteered his after removing his equipment, and reluctantly recalled Grace to add hers to the pile of balls that Komo soon scooped into Joe's backpack and carried away behind Solymar, who was already talking on her telephone and well away from the group.  
  
Burner approached his master and tapped him on the shoulder. “Joe, does this mean I can fight with Roscoe until she and Komo come back with the other pokemon?”  
  
His question was answered from afar. “You can play with me if you want to!”  
  
Trainers and pokemon alike turned to see the source of the mysterious female voice that seemed to come from a nearby tree. Her blue and black fur serving surprisingly well as camouflage behind the tree's green leaves, Alice was unseen by any but Roscoe before she hopped down from the branch she was using as a bench.  
  
Terrance quipped as she approached the group. “Whoa. If there are riolu in these trees, I'll headbutt them myself if I have to.”  
  
Not that there were many riolu running around Rennin, but the ribbons she wore made Joe certain that they had crossed paths before.  
  
She walked up to Burner and asked, “Well, do you want to?”  
  
“Uh, yes. But, our masters have to gi—”  
  
Alice stole Burner's left claw and led him into the circle. He was not certain what to do. His mind was distracted by various thoughts. Permission to fight, from both Joe and from this riolu's owner, for one. That he was being challenged by a complete stranger, for two. A third thought was the one causing him the most confusion, but he had no idea how to rationalize it. All three were knocked out of his mind, much like the wind from his lungs, when his chest took a blow that carried him aloft and landed him on his back, seeing now not a blue and black riolu in a loose fighting stance but a cyan and white sky.  
  
“I thought you wanted to play.” Alice crouched beside Burner with a genuine look of concern.  
  
He held his breath as he stared up into her intently-focused eyes. That she considered a force-palm that bowled him over to be just playing raised Burner's temperature. “I do.”  
  
Alice smiled and returned to a starting position while Burner did likewise.  
  
He intended to take the initiative, attacking immediately and forcefully, and instead he received the initiative in spades as she deftly countered his attacks. Burner backed up and tried to rely on ranged fire-based attacks, only to see her cast copycat and throw them right back. Playing his stamina as a trump card, Burner moved in close again, hoping that she was now tired enough that he could pressure her until she left him an opening without a counter attack waiting in the wings.  
  
At the trainer's bench, Joe realized that this was about the time when Burner started out-running his opponents, and commented to Percival, “I hope he doesn't hurt her. We saw what he did to Sam today.”  
  
Terrance laughed and leaned toward Matthew. “Matt, twenty quatloos on the newcomer.”  
  
Joe remembered that comment from before; it was something Terrance seemed to say when a small female pokemon was about to win her debut match. “What do you mean by that?”  
  
Terrance just smiled. “Keep watching, about fifteen seconds from now.”  
  
Percival broke the suspense for Joe. “She was copycatting his embers a moment ago, so she's at least level 29, and that means she also knows reversal.”  
  
Joe knew only moves that his T.D. listed among his own pokemon's abilities. “What's a reversal?”  
  
Terrance just smiled. “I said keep watching. See how her antennas are lifting up? Three, two, one.”  
  
Alice shouted like a professional tennis player as she delivered a blindingly-powerful blow to her opponent that sent him flying backwards, not unlike her opening force-palm, but this time he flipped forward, completing three-quarters of a turn before landing once again on his back. Alice herself could barely stand and opted to half-crawl to Burner's side. She licked some blood that was trailing down the corner of her mouth. “Hey, you okay?”  
  
Burner slowly opened his eyes and rolled them around a bit before finding the blur that spoke to him. He made a sound of indeterminate value, which she took as a yes.  
  
“You fight good. Wanna be friends?”  
  
He made another sound of indeterminate value, which she also took as a yes.  
  
The trainers as a group stood over the fighters.  
  
“You both look terrible,” said the obvious-stating Joe. “I guess both of them need to go to the pokecenter, too, now.” Joe did not mind the trip, but would rather put it off until Solymar returned with both his backpack and his Grace. He asked of Alice, “Where is your trainer? You need to be taken care of.”  
  
“He's—I can take care of myself.” Alice tried again to stand, but faltered and fell onto Burner, who responded only with a sound of indeterminate value. Rolling off of him, she admitted her weakness, slightly. “I just need a minute.”  
  
Percival helped Alice to her feet and kept her stable while Joe mostly dragged Burner behind them. At the battle bench, Joe sifted through his few supplies for a revival salt crystal while Matthew offered Alice a concentrated health tonic which she graciously accepted, despite its wretched flavor. Joe squeezed the crystal until it shattered in an explosive puff of powder near Burner's nostrils. Three seconds, and he sprang awake, swinging his arms as though he were completely off-balance.  
  
Solymar and Komo returned, fashionably late and full of complaint. “Of course you give me the losing card on the day that every trainer between here and Indan Falls is in line wanting something time-consuming. And, that wasn't the worst of it.” She noticed Joe and the jackal sitting beside him. “What is it with this doofus? A wild shiny of notorious species hops into his lap,” she glanced at Percival, “your uncle gives him a five-and-a-half-star starter, and now he's got a lucario-to-be.”  
  
Alice took another swig of her potion, its acrid personality un-reminding her of her evolutionary difficulties.  
  
Joe shifted nervously. “She's not mine. Uh—”  
  
“Alice.”  
  
“—Alice has a trainer, but she was watching us and wanted to join in.”  
  
“Oh, the more the merrier.” Solymar signaled Komo to give Joe his backpack back.  
  
Soon, the table was surrounded by rejuvenated and hungry pokemon, passing around food and berries. The trainers recounted Burner's epic battle for the pokemon who were absent over their lunch. Afterward, Percival called out the eternal question, “Anyone want to go next or do we cut for it?” and Alice seized the Now.  
  
“Her!” Alice shouted and pointed at the ralts. “I need to go home soon, but I've never fought one of her kind before.”  
  
Joe really wanted to say no, but Grace was already wiping her mouth with a napkin and headed into the circle.  
  
Since both preferred passive strategies, their fight began with a stare-down. Alice could feel Grace synchronizing with her, and decided that time was on her opponent's side. She closed their gap and intended to outpace Grace with a quick-attack.  
  
Sensing Alice's plan, Grace realized that she could not use that particular technique, but considered doing something similar. She felt lighter, not due to levitation, but something else; she felt as if she was not there and also like she was being pulled to where she wanted to be. To the audience, Grace seemed to become semi-transparent, with a dark purple tint muting her colors.  
  
Alice lunged forward and swung at Grace, but hit nothing. At that very moment, Grace phased back into existence behind Alice's head and with a half-turn, spun and smacked the riolu on both sides of her head with her fists. The blow was weak, but it kept her off balance and momentarily disrupted her aura senses.  
  
Grace seized the Now. Just as she did to Joe earlier that day, Grace clamped on to Alice's head and like a jockey she drove her forward. Alice swung her arms around, hoping to recover her balance, but quickly realized that her stumbling momentum was overtaking her center of gravity and that her center of gravity was overtaking the circle's boundary. Her feet no longer beneath her, Alice fell over, halting her motion and letting Grace be the one victimized by momentum as she was cast off of Alice's shoulders, over her head, and onto the grass. To her credit, Grace did stabilize her fall enough to make it look like she landed on her feet despite her body being nowhere near upright. The survey-stake practice suddenly felt much more worthwhile.  
  
Once again, Grace skipped ahead to receive accolades from Joe, who was surprised, but happy, to give them.  
  
Alice followed, brushing a couple small twigs and broken blades of grass from her fur. “You fight smart. Mister, can I play with your pokemon again sometime?”  
  
Joe noticed Grace scratching at her head. He wanted to assume that she too had debris in her hair, but he did not see anything. “Uh, sure, Alice. Anytime.”  
  
The riolu smiled cutely and started along a deceptive path home. She thought over her checklist; she was completing her objectives in reverse. Follow Daddy's rules, check; follow human rules, check; make trustworthy friends, today felt like a good start; find a safe place to live, could be better; hide her ball where no one will ever get it. That one was still a problem. Someone would have to know it was there to find it, but if someone did know, they could get in and out with it in minutes. It needed to be both inaccessible and away from herself. Behind a loose brick in the wall of the abandoned home's cellar was neither.  
  
Joe watched Grace scratch her head again and remembered that he needed to pick up a pokemon shampoo that was approved for feathers; and perhaps verdant Grass-types, too. It would not hurt to be prepared. “Hey, Percy, what kind of shampoo do you use on Sam?”  
  
Since Frankie was now competing, Percival was paying close attention to the action and did not appreciate Joe's distracting inquiry. “Shampoo? Duh, none. He's a Grass-type and has no hair. Blast him with the garden hose, he's clean.”  
  
Grace started scratching her scalp intensely with both hands.  
  
Joe retried. “Actually, it's Burner. My shampoo said it's not for feathers or Grass-types. What am I supposed to use?”  
  
Percival groaned and did not take his eyes off of the circle. “Most birds take care of themselves okay, but there are a bunch of powders you can get, for washing, for fragrance, and for parasites like ticks and mites if you spend too much time in the forests.”  
  
Both Joe and Percival noticed a slow, rhythmic thumping sound, but ignored it; it was probably just a car with its bass cranked up.  
  
Percival's tendency to ramble kicked in. “With feathers, the problem isn't the shampoo itself, but you can't work it in without damaging the feathers, and it never rinses out right so it dries and irritates the skin. The powders sift through and dissolve easily, though most don't need to be rinsed out, anyway—what is that noise?”  
  
Joe and Percival turned, noticing that Grace was bashing her sensory horns against the concrete bench seat behind them. Joe was stunned, but Percival looked low and noticed that she was standing on cyan limbs that now poked two inches beneath her skirt.  
  
“Congratulations, Joe, she's evolving.”  
  
“Urraghhhh!” Grace yelled as she assaulted the bench seat with all her might, cleanly breaking away her front sensory horn. While the image of its bloody root being exposed and healed-over within seconds burned itself into Joe's memory, Grace caught her breath, turned around, and began working on the rear one. Five warm-up strikes, one primal scream, and off it came, clattering against the bench seat as it fell alongside the other. She returned to scratching her head furiously above each of two columns of fleshy nubs that were imperceptible bumps before. As her second set of sensory horns forced their way through the flesh she clawed at, she screamed again and fell seated on the ground, closing her eyes tightly behind her now-bloody hands, balled into fists.  
  
The rest of her transformation was, by comparison, straightforward. Her body continued to lengthen while her skirt drew up her newly-exposed legs, and her hair grew somewhat selectively, still doing a good job of covering her face and budding gills. Two minutes after her evolution began, she was standing up, despite some disorientation, and a few seconds more saw her float-leaping to Joe's waiting arms where she received a remark of congratulation from all.  
  


* * *

  
Hunter was piss-drunk again. He always got piss-drunk when he visited Sabrina's Cantina. Hunter liked the place because it was the way he wanted to be: self-reliant and surrounded by wilderness. The structure had only three walls, providing an open-air experience. There was no electricity, water was channeled from the river that flowed over a waterfall a short distance away, and all of the alcohol served was apparently brewed or distilled on-site, although no customer knew where the equipment was hidden. Of course, half-way up a modest mountain, there were very few customers. All the better for him; Hunter hated being bothered by strangers when things were going as badly as they always seemed to be going when he would wind up within hiking distance of Sabrina's Cantina.  
  
“Kraaaaa!”  
  
Hunter Hague un-hung his head for a moment and stared at the murkrow that seemed insistent that Hunter immediately read the piece of mail that he carried.  
  
He began with a heavily sarcastic tone. “Let's see, I wonder who this is from. Oh, it says at the bottom. Isn't that swell?” For a single second, he sobered up. “Oh, it is S'Well.” Hunter leaned in close to the murkrow's beak. “ ‘Do or die,’ it says. He sent you all the way out here for three little words. Here, you need this more than me.” Hunter slid the last sip of his whiskey glass to the murkrow, who turned away, having smelled enough alcohol coming off of Hague's breath.  
  
“Kraaaaa!”  
  
“Not while you're on duty, right? Here, I don't wanna send you away empty-handed.” Hague pulled a small feather from his pocket and let the murkrow carry it off. It was not much to look at in the shade, but it sparkled with an eerie iridescence as soon as the day's fading sunlight struck it. Hague continued to the murkrow who had already departed. “And tell that crotchety old fart I want an extra fifty percent when I bring 'm in.”  
  
The proprietor cleared away Hague's plate and glass. “You'll never catch him. I told you, he's been luring you around for the fun of it all this time.”  
  
“Sabsie, I will. I'm going to get him and give him to that old fart and get my money and never have to work again.”  
  
“You know he'll just pat you on the head and tell you to bring him a lugia.”  
  
Hague slowly slid off of his bar stool, cast across the bar a handful of wadded bank notes, and put his hat back onto his head. “If I don't ever have to work again, catchin' a lugia sounds like it'd be a pretty neat hobby for a while.” The hunter staggered away toward his campsite, drawing a stifled laugh from Sabrina as he collided with objects that were not even in his way.  
  
All her patrons gone, Sabrina drew a heavy rope across the open wall and locked up her product. Hidden beneath an old and dirty rug, she lifted a hidden hatch door and descended a narrow ladder until she reached a cave that ultimately connected to an opening behind one of the local waterfalls. Its inky darkness receded from a point of light born of a wisp of sacred-fire that lived for but a single second. Sabrina addressed that place in the pitch black æther and walked toward it carefully. “He said he'll be headed for the other side of the falls, tomorrow.” She walked until she felt a massive curtain of feathers envelop her body and draw her in. Never with him near was she afraid of the dark.  
  


* * *

  


* * *

  
  


* * *

  
“No, Joe, you gotta hold them on tight. She's gonna squirm and if you let both slip—don't let them slip. There's no un-do with this sort of thing.” Percival re-positioned Joe's hands and the earphones that were strapped to them. “Now, squeeze. Harder.”  
  
Grace whined as she lied on the comforter-futon that was now the official Rainier Pokemon bed. It covered half of the spare room's floor. The things that were there previously Joe had stacked atop things that stood on the other half of the room's floor in lieu of actually clearing out the chamber properly.  
  
Percival manned his T.M. application device. “That's better, but the foam pads aren't flat yet; harder.”  
  
“Percy, this is hurting her.”  
  
“Just wait until I press the play button on this thing.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Are you squeezing?”  
  
“Yes, I'm—”  
  
Joe squeezed Grace's head between the earphones even more strongly as the high-pitched squeals emanating from Percival's T.M. reader seemingly penetrated every bone in his body, making him suddenly tense. Grace writhed and thrashed while Joe wondered about T.M. duration. “How much more of this does she have to take?”  
  
“Another twenty seconds. Speech is a big program because it has to burn its own little place in the brain. That's also why it can't be erased; it's too pervasive to block off or blank out like the small ones.” That explanation consuming ten of the twenty seconds, it still felt like an eternity before the sound finally subsided and Percival's T.M. reader ejected its spent media. “Okay, give her the headache medicine and let her sleep. Her ability to talk will kick in when it feels like it. I've got to get some work done on that paper due next week. Later.” Percival gathered his equipment and returned to his home.  
  
As Joe passed through to his bedroom, Burner left James' side upon the love-seat and followed his master, recognizing an opportunity to spend time with him, alone. “I want to play with you,” he announced with a tone combining both command and appeal.  
  
“What?”  
  
“This.” Burner pointed at the television screen that was still working its way through corporate logos and introductory cinematics. “Show me how so I can play with you.”  
  
Burner settled on the floor and studied a control pad while Joe switched the game disc to a fighting game because it seemed like something that Burner would understand easily and it would support two players. An imported role-playing game about a world that did not have pokemon might take a while to explain, and Joe was already using all of its save slots.  
  
Once Burner acclimated to his controller, he began to demonstrate as much prowess in the virtual ring as the real one. The simplification of combat to a half-dozen kicks and punches plus a few combinations made the game's fighting seem trivial, at least until Joe quit going easy on him and started fighting back. Then, it started to seem like a digital Alice was inside that screen, as Joe's avatar started racking up points three at a time simply by deftly blocking until Burner's avatar was committed to an attack, and then wrecking him with a devastating counter.  
  
Joe and Burner were, for the first time, genuinely having fun together. Just like when he was in the ring, Burner's tendency to gain momentum when he should be wearing out kicked in, and as he became increasingly frustrated with Joe's neigh-unbeatability, he also became less gentle with the controller, pushing the buttons harder as though that would make his avatar deliver stronger blows. His controller's plastic shell soon split and shattered, scattering a few triangular shards onto the bedroom carpet.  
  
“No! Oh, man.” Joe snatched the controller away from Burner, who winced and recoiled slightly. “Why did you do that?”  
  
For all his waiting to evolve and gain the power of speech, Burner could not think of what to say. He merely groaned a shamed and wavering, “Kraaaaa.”  
  
“Well, game over.” Joe swung the controller's corpse by its cord into a trash bin and exchanged his fighting game for his role-playing game again. “Why don't you go to your room and find something to break in there. It's all old junk, anyway. Just don't wake up Grace.”  
  
Burner got to his feet and started slinking away, but stopped at Joe's door, straightened up, and sat on Joe's bed, despite his orders.  
  
“Master Joe; do you like me?”  
  
Joe ignored the question.  
  
“Not like you like Grace. I know you don't. I'm not good enough. But, do you like me at all?”  
  
Joe suspended his game by switching to a status screen. “I don't hate you, Burner. But, I do think you should've gone to a real trainer.”  
  
“Are you going to trade me away to one?”  
  
For a moment, Joe considered it. One of the trainers-in-training would probably take him; they knew he's a winner in the ring. Considering who would give him the best home brought Percival to mind, and suddenly Joe wondered if he had planned for this all along. Then, another thought came to Joe's mind: a memory of Grace reminding him that as angry as he was, he needed to find his friend and bring him home. It was followed by a flash of imagination of what it would be like, to release his ralts—no—kirlia alone the next time he went to the park. To activate his T.D. and see only Grace's entry. To not see Burner walking up to him after a fight, win or lose, with that look in his eyes saying that the only thing that mattered to him was the words of congratulation or consolation his master was about to give him.  
  
“Nah. I'd miss you.”  
  
“I'd miss you too, Master.”  
  
Joe patted the floor beside himself.  
  
Burner slid off of the bed and sat where instructed. Joe reached around him with his right arm, drawing him into a side-by-side hug. He completed the loop by bringing his left hand and controller to where the right could now reach, and together, Joe and Burner battled against digital images of evil forces until lights-out.  
  


* * *

  
Grace grunted and rolled over on her side of the make-shift futon. While a part of her motivation was her struggle to become comfortable in her alien body, wracked by the after-effects of having its entire language center forcefully restructured, Grace's primary goal was to find an orientation for her sensory organs that would let her know what Joe was up to. While her special abilities grew with her body, the closest mind, geographically-speaking, was that of a neighbor, Mr. Pearson, who was broadcasting vivid reactions to his favorite football team's territorial gains and losses. Straining her hardest, the most she could catch from her family was that all three members seemed happy.  
  
She felt a strange need to get closer to them; why, she could not say. Plainly, Grace wanted to join them, but the part that compelled her to get closer also made her second-guess leaving her room. Indecisively touching her room's doorknob, Grace felt a spark of static electricity. Completely unwittingly, the surprise distracted her from her own efforts to sense their mental states, and for a brief moment, she felt herself receive an impression of James' current contemplation. It gave her cause for pause, and led her to lie down again. James was happy, an emotion she rarely felt from him, because Joe and Burner were together, getting along, without her. Given the option between going back to sleep and enjoying her family's happiness vicariously, or interrupting and bringing at least James down and possibly the others as a consequence, she chose the former.  
  
At the top of the hour, Burner entered the pokemon room and took his place on their futon. Grace poked him a few times after he lay down to get his attention.  
  
“Burner, did Dad start a film, or go to sleep?”  
  
“I think he's going to bed. I want to, too.”  
  
Grace struggled to filter out the neighbor's mental noise. The best she could manage was to notice a slight drop in overall consciousness nearby, and hoped that it was indeed James falling asleep. Reaching for the doorknob again, she realized that her other powers should have grown as well. Grace closed her eyes, cleared her mind, and focused on her exact destination. A series of walls between here and there seemed to stand defiantly before her, until suddenly they stood defeated behind her.  
  
Joe awoke paralyzed with an unfamiliar weight seated upon his chest. Unable to struggle, he looked at the faint figure above him, illuminated only by a trickle of moonlight and an alarm clock's red electronic glow.  
  
“I love you, Joe.” Grace's whispered voice was weak, but clear. After a few seconds, she removed her palms from his head. “I'm sorry I woke you up that way. I wanted to make sure the first thing I said to you was the most important.”  
  
Joe remained paralyzed by bewilderment instead of psychic intervention for a moment. Once that faded, he reached up to draw her into a hug. “If Dad catches you in here—”  
  
“It wouldn't be as bad as getting caught playing games instead of being in bed, right?”  
  
“I hope not.”  
  
Blind teleportation from one corner of her home to its other left Grace feeling completely drained. She invested the last of her stamina into slipping into Joe's bed and finding a position for her foreign form to align with Joe's form.  
  
“Grace, you feel a little warmer than you used to be.”  
  
“I'm a little happier than I used to be.”  
  
They bade each other goodnight with whispered, exhausted voices.  
  


* * *

  
Bang!  
  
It was just a window shutter that refused to choose between being open and shut, and Alice knew this. Despite Daddy's best efforts to train Alice in logic and reason, and in the art of critically analyzing situations as they presented themselves, she had one wound that refused to heal.  
  
Bang!  
  
Alice drew her bedding, a dusty old curtain pulled down from one of the abandoned house's larger windows, around herself like a cocoon and pressed her body against the backrest of a smelly and threadbare recliner. As offensive as it was, there were no other soft surfaces in the abandoned house, since any worthwhile furniture was removed by its last tenants.  
  
Bang!  
  
Without any further options for symbolic withdrawal, Alice whimpered and whined. That damned window shutter striking against the siding sounded too much like the warning often heard when Dad came home. Not the Daddy that Alice learned to love and trust, or even her biological father, but the mad dad.  
  


* * *

  
Bang!  
  
Debbie gasped and started collecting all of her dolls. This tea party was over. Alice tried to help, but newly-hatched and un-coordinated, she could not carry much. As ordered by his mistress, Osborne soon entered the bedroom with a hurried step and gathered the things that Debbie was leaving behind in her haste. As the girl leapt into her bed and Alice retreated to her pet bed in a corner, hiding herself beneath a tiny comforter, Osborne turned off the bedroom's light and discarded a pair of leather-and-steel gloves that guarded his paws' dorsal spikes. He took a position hidden inside Debbie's closet, leaving the door open, and let his aura senses begin seeing for him. The room was silent except for tense heartbeats and echoed voices of an angry man and an angry wife yelling at each other. Were it on stage, it could have been a demented opera.  
  
A wail from a crying woman with a bleeding nose behind heavy plodding footsteps headed toward Debbie's room marked the second act's beginning. Debbie prayed that this time would be like the other times. That he would see her “sleeping,” and switch back from his manic to his depressive mode—locking himself in his den with grape juice for grown-ups and picture books of people with their clothes off that she knew she was not supposed to know about—and be not-mad dad in the morning.  
  
“Princess. Prin-cess. I know you're not really sleeping. PRINCESS!”  
  
Even if she were asleep, she would not have been after that.  
  
“Why did you lie to me? Is Daddy's little princess becoming a woman, just like the others?” Mad Dad began to slowly walk into his daughter's room. “Like that shrew who thinks she can tell me what to do with my life? Like that whore who fired me because I'm a real man who won't check his balls at the gate like those pinstripe-suited pussies?”  
  
With absolute stealth, Osborne sneaked out of the closet and approached in parallel, keeping himself slightly beyond the fringe of Mad Dad's peripheral vision.  
  
“Is that why you just now lied to me about being asleep? I wanted you to be my princess forever. Don't you want to be Daddy's little princess?”  
  
Debbie clutched the leading edge of her sheets and pulled them up to her chin. “Yes, Dad.”  
  
“And what do princesses never do?”  
  
“Lie.”  
  
“That's right.” Mad Dad slowly knelt at Debbie's bedside. As his left knee reached the floor, it landed on a stray jack that dug its spike into the soft spot between his patella and tibia. He howled with pain, although it was not much louder than his earlier yelling. “And you know what princesses always do?”  
  
“Keep their rooms perfectly clean.”  
  
“God damn right they do!” he shouted through his teeth with his voice in a lowered register. Mad Dad removed the jack and cast it aside. It struck the wall and landed near Alice. “I was right. You aren't my little princess. Not anymore. My little princess wouldn't hurt me, and I wouldn't hurt her. But you're not her, are you?”  
  
Debbie screamed as he tore her blankets away and seized her, shaking her with gaining-momentum as he shouted.  
  
“Who are you? Who are you! What did you do with my princess you filthy monster!”  
  
Debbie wailed after he slapped her, not much differently from the way he slapped his wife.  
  
“I want my god damn princess back! Stop crying and tell me how I can get her back!” He slapped her again and she screamed and cried even more forcefully.  
  
Osborne had seen this pattern many times before in the kitchen and living room. Mad Dad always threw a punch on the third swing. In those rooms, he had been ordered by his mistress to stand fast and do nothing. In this room, however, his orders were different.  
  
“Princesses don't cry! They do what the king tells them to do because they love their dads. Where is my princess at? What did you do with her!” Removing his right hand from her body, she fell half-kneeling on the bed, held put and steady by his left. His free hand balled into a fist as his arm drew backwards. Blinded by rage, he was not cognizant of how hard he was about to strike his daughter, who he truly did love, inside his fantasy realm where he was a king, and not a mentally-unstable washout who could not keep even menial jobs for any significant duration and took out his frustrations on the women around him.  
  
The crackle of shattering bones and splintering cartilage competed with Debbie's cries, and won-out depending on where you were in the room, as Osborne jumped onto Debbie's bed and used his right paw's dorsal spike to block and deflect Mad Dad's fist, splitting it halfway to the wrist between its middle and ring fingers.  
  
Screaming and cursing at the top of his lungs, Mad Dad swung his ruined hand around, flinging spotted trails of blood all about his daughter's room. After a moment, he adapted enough to the pain to speak coherently. “You fucking mongrel! I should've had you put down on day-one. But, no, she says: love me, love my dog.” His gaze turned to Alice. “Hell, I even let her let you make another one of ya'.” Mad Dad pulled his shirt off and wrapped his hand with it while he staggered out of Debbie's room. “I can un-make those mistakes.”  
  
Osborne tried to comfort Debbie and activated his sensory organs to track Mad Dad's movements. Tracing his aura, Osborne did not see him go into the bathroom for first aid; instead, the lucario sensed him entering his den, and digging around for something. The dark shadow it cast upon surrounding aura fields indicated that it was something small, heavy, and solid.  
  
Osborne barked a grainy “Come!” to Alice while he took Debbie by her arm and ran out of her room. He found Debbie's mother in her usual post-fight position, leaning face-down over a table, arms wrapped tightly around her head to block out the nightmare that surrounded her. She was slow to rouse but Osborne was most insistent.  
  
“R-r-run, now!” Osborne was either a mute or a failed T.M. subject, but had practiced enough on his own to be understood in a pinch.  
  
As the mother and daughter fled, leaving the front door open behind themselves, Osborne turned to his own offspring and nuzzled her affectionately. “You r-r-run. Don-sop. Ket kood home.”  
  
Mad Dad marched into his daughter's room and found it empty. “Come on out you fucking mutts. I got something for the both of you.”  
  
“Ko!” Osborne spun Alice to face away from him and shoved her into a run that carried her out through the house's front door and into the night.  
  
Armed with a pistol, the king saw an enemy knight. “There you are.”  
  
Alice crossed the welcome-mat.  
  
Bang!  
  
No good. Mad Dad had never fired with his left hand before.  
  
Osborne began to channel an aura sphere; he only needed a few seconds.  
  
Alice passed a beater in the driveway.  
  
Bang!  
  
A half-channeled aura sphere dissipated, releasing little more than a forceful shock-front that staggered the king and knocked picture frames off of the walls.  
  
“Too easy.” Mad Dad began advancing toward the door. “Now, to do the same to your worthless litt—ow!”  
  
In defiance of the bullet that destroyed a few of the organs in his abdomen, Osborne managed enough strength to fling himself from the floor and clamp his jaw on the man's right leg. Despite the man's attempt to kick him away, Osborne would not let go as long as he lived.  
  
Alice was near the end of the block, but the gunshots somehow seemed as loud as they were at their source.  
  
Bang!  
  
Despite the distance, the riolu's hearing was acute enough to discern the shooter's voice as he shouted complaints.  
  
“God, I hate Steel-types! Please, fucking die already!” The king twisted into a half-crouch and pressed his revolver against the knight's forehead.  
  
Bang!  
  
Bang!  
  
Alice felt a sharp ripple of aura fade suddenly.  
  
Bang!  
  
Thirty-nine seconds after Alice turned the block's corner, officers from the Nybomy Fields Police Department arrived at the home and took a deranged man with an emptied pistol into custody. She ran through the neighborhood until she reached a small commercial area and headed for the brightest lights she could see.  
  
Nybomy Pokecenter's automatic doors glided open with a—  
  


* * *

  
Bang!  
  
“Daddy!” Alice tearfully cried out to and for either, or both. Neither could hear her, and neither would come to comfort her. She was alone with only her dusty old curtain to keep her company.  
  
As the storm passed over through the night, Alice endured a cycle of falling asleep, re-living the night when her biological father died, awakening to the sound of an unsecured window shutter, and crying out in lonely terror.  
  
A few meters above her on the attic floor rested a strange red necklace. Beside it lay a photograph of what appeared to be a distinguished gentleman, and a crudely-torn piece of newsprint bearing a similar image. Between the necklace and the photograph someone had carved a message into the wooden floor with a rusted nail: “Come on, Harvey, let's play!”  
  
With every fearful twitch, anguished whimper, or scream of terror that Alice suffered, the necklace responded. At first, it began to emit a subtle, deep-crimson glow for a few seconds, but as the night wore on, it slowly lifted itself from the surface upon which it had rested for years. When the light of the morning sun pierced a small screened ventilation hole, it lit a tenuous cloud that slowly swirled and expanded around the hovering necklace.  
  
The same sunlight awoke Alice, who groggily emerged from her fabric cocoon. Taking stock of her situation, she figured that she could afford a mid-day nap and still have time to finish her costume, but first she needed to visit a neighbor.  
  
“I've got to borrow that hammer again.”  
  
That window shutter would be silenced, one way or another.  
  


* * *

 


	5. Reflections

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 5: Reflections.

* * *

  
With an anxious tremor, Alice crumpled pieces of scavenged aluminum foil around a hoop of wire. She could feel distant eyes upon her; no matter that every time she turned, she saw nothing but out-of-fashion texture on the ceiling, decorated with mummified insects dangling from webs hung by spiders who had long since moved on to find greener pastures. Desperate for a distraction, she reached for an emergency flashlight/radio—a thrift store bargain since its bulb was useless—and cranked its handle furiously for a minute before tuning in a station and returning to her work. For something made completely from salvaged garbage, Alice felt that her Halloween costume was looking pretty good.

A red necklace in a dark fog bled through the ceiling again. Alice's sensors twitched. The necklace and fog vanished. Alice turned around and squinted at the cobwebs with her ears folded back. She did not appreciate being spied upon, but there was not much she could do to truly threaten a Ghost-type. She gave her radio a few more turns and increased the volume a little. “If a pokemon was squatting here before me, why did it wait until now to reveal itself?” she thought, uncertain if she was intruding on its territory or if it was intruding on hers.

A red necklace in a dark fog bled through the ceiling again. Alice's sensors twitched. The riolu made a silent pact with herself to ignore it completely, unless it actually attacked her. She soon questioned her judgment as she felt it drifting slowly but steadily closer to her from behind. Instinctively, her five basic senses began yielding to her sixth, making work on her costume difficult. The form of the cardboard and cloth she handled became indistinct as her vision started interpreting aura patterns alongside visible light, causing her own paws to shine through. The field of view of her mind's eye expanded to include a dark vignetting around its fringe, with intermittent points of light on each side.

The darkness grew around her until she lost sight of all but her paws before her. She focused her mind on her own energies, which she could feel being siphoned away ever-so-slightly, and she anticipated a powerful attack. Right at the moment she expected a point-blank shadow-ball to the back of her head, Alice felt instead a sharp tug on both of her sensors.

She sat for a moment nonplussed. Instantly, there were no aura patterns nearby but her own. Alice looked about and found two blue ribbons that were tied into bows when she had been wearing them, lying on the floor.

Alice completed her costume in peace, although she kept the radio charged and playing at a faint volume. As the afternoon ended, she dined on a can of vienna sausage, donned her costume, and with a plastic bag in hand passed through the basement setting out to claim her piece of the action.

A misdreavus seeped upwards through the floor wearing half of a smile. “Good sport.” Marianne glanced at Alice's radio, shifting to a frown. “Bad taste.” She adjusted its tuning with her hair-like tendrils to a station whose format was more familiar, and floated to the room's well-shuttered windows, peeking through a thin gap. The neighborhood looked a little different. Marianne wondered aloud how long she had been—effectively—dead of starvation. A newspaper scrap among Alice's costume detritus gave her a figure to work with. She felt conflicted by simultaneous realizations that she had underestimated, and that it meant absolutely nothing at all.

Marianne let the paper fragment drop as she drifted upward into the attic and returned to the spot where she had revived. She re-read the obituary clipping that lay beside Harvey's photograph, and then addressed his image. “You liar. You promised me, you damn asshole!” Marianne shrieked with soul-deep intensity before biting the edge of the photograph's frame and slinging it across the attic, shattering and scattering its glass in a distant corner. Marianne hung her head; at least, as well as a creature that is little more than a head can. As she settled down upon the message she scratched into the flooring, she glanced away from the mess of shattered glass and whispered, “I miss you.”

* * *

  
After hours of anticipation, the sky began changing, growing rouge and magenta. A similar transition in color was happening to Grace, whose conversion into a spectre was nearing completion. Joe smeared one last streak of purple paint down Grace's skirt. “Perfect! Hey, Dad, don't you think she looks just like a mismagius?”

James, sitting on his couch, let his newspaper fold downward enough to see over it, and listlessly agreed. “Yeah, looks just like one.”

Joe adjusted her cloak of purple tulle and necklace made of large red non-precious stone pendants. “Come on, follow me to the bathroom. You should get a look at yourself in the mirror.”

Grace levitated off of the coffee table and maintained a few inches of altitude at all times. The coffee table's glass would be easily cleaned of the grease paint that marred it while Grace was becoming disguised, but the carpet would prove far less forgiving should she touch it.

Turning to face the bathroom mirror, she shouted in surprise. Aside from her eye color, she truly did look like a mismagius. She floated above the counter-top beside the sink where Joe was washing his hands and neared the mirror to ensure that the real her was still there beneath the make-up.

Joe heard the phone ring, followed by a summons from his father to attend to it: Percival had called to see if Joe and Grace were ready to head out for trick-or-treating. Joe confirmed their preparations' completion, called Grace to his side, and with bags in-hand, bade James goodbye for the next few hours. He reminded them to watch for traffic.

At the Finnegan home, Percival, Sam, and Burner waited impatiently. Sam donned a very elaborate costume, modified from the designs worn by cinematic samurai, while Burner was looking slightly ironic, wearing an inappropriately-sized plastic fireman's helmet and a simple suit made of yellow ochre colored scrap fabric with reflective tape accents, intended to look like it were made of nomex. At least the air tank that he wore, effortlessly, was legitimate, although its history was betrayed by red rectangular sticker with a white diagonal stripe. Frankie was outfitted in a small Hawaiian shirt and a black baseball cap, struggling to figure out how to set the television's recorder to save a slasher marathon during the time he would be compelled to serve as a self-illuminating chaperone.

Neither Joe nor Percival wore elaborate costumes. Wearing their most raggedy closet finds, they each put on an eye-patch, a hat with a jolly roger in the center, and in Percival's case, a prop bird made of styrene and glued feathers attached with an alligator clip, establishing himself as the pirate captain. While trick-or-treating remained traditional for the younger children, the older ones let their costumed pokemon handle candy collection in their stead. So many youths with their pokemon walking the streets would not be seen again until school let out for the summer and journey trainers began their walkabouts.

* * *

  
After four ignored rings, James' answering machine took a call for him. The voice being recorded was less than a welcome sound.

“Mister Rainier, my good friend. I feel we should share a conversation, recent turns of fate being what they are. Since you are obviously more interested in sitting in your chair and pretending to watch T.V. than you are in rising and picking up your telephone like a proper gentleman would, I will arrange a personal visit at my convenience. Please set aside some politeness in advance.”

James paced to the front window and saw the tail lights of a limousine fade southward. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “Anything for you, Mister Well.” He sat again, turned off his television, and thought back to the last time he said those words.

* * *

  
Nine divers in uniform gathered as ordered and awaited further instructions, biding the time by discussing recent news in low tones. They all fell silent the instant that Captain Biltmore entered the room.

“We've got to get moving fast, so this meeting will be brief. The good news is that, while the project sub is heavily damaged, it's resting shallow, all hands are accounted-for, and most of the men survived. The bad news is, the wreckage has damaged some underwater pipes, the boat itself is leaking fuel, and it was carrying some equipment that we have been ordered to recover. You tadpoles have been chosen because you're the best divers and wet welders we have. Now, between the blood in the water and seasonal migratory patterns, that area has enough sharks and hostile aquatic pokemon for me to make a joke about walking there and back without getting my boots wet. One of our private contractors has made us a generous offer that we are accepting. Mr. Well?”

A man, looking a little older than he actually was, replaced Captain Biltmore in standing before the dive team. One of the divers snickered and elbowed his neighbor, seeing that the man's identification tag read “Mr. S. Well,” coinciding with the moniker of an adult-film actor, which he found slightly humorous at four-something in the morning.

“Gentlemen. I have at my disposal a vast collection of pokemon indigenous to regions across the world, and have prepared a selection of aquatic ones to help protect you during this operation. Of course, I make no promises that they will obey any of your orders, but they will obey mine to help keep you safe.”

Captain Biltmore returned to the front of the room. “Now, I know most of you aren't pokemon trainers, or only have had them as pets. Just ignore them and let them do their job. Treat them like you would a special security team. However, a few of you do have your own pokemon; if they're suitable for this job and you want to work with one you know, have a word with me now. The rest of you, get out of here and get your equipment.”

A young diver with sharp facial features approached the Captain. “Skipper, I want to bring my own pokemon.”

“Tell me what you have.”

“He's a floatzel. Before I signed up, we used to go on deep dives every other weekend. I know he can't stay down forever like oceanic ones can, but he can go eight minutes on one breath, so one pony bottle will last him as long as I can stay down, Sir.”

Captain Biltmore scratched his chin beneath his orange beard and approved Petty Officer Second Class Rainier's request to bring his personal pokemon into the operation. James was elated by this opportunity. While all hands were allowed to keep one pokemon with them, a program inspired by a study that showed better performance metrics and lower stress-related incidents among men—past trainers and otherwise—who were allowed to interact with a familiar pokemon, practical concerns and duty cycles meant that some pokemon were only out of stasis a few times each month, and most of their pokeballs became bunk-side decorations, as their masters found it easier emotionally to let them sleep in their balls than to bring them out only to share a brief moment of affection, a small meal, and recall them once again for however long it would be until next time.

Mere minutes later, Nelson slipped into an improvised harness that held his pony bottle and a small radio transponder. There was no equipment sized for a three-foot-tall weasel, but a roll of hurricane tape can attach just about anything to just about anything else.

The divers and their impromptu mascot loaded themselves and their equipment onto a small emergency-response boat and ran though checklists as the morning sun began to illuminate the sky and hide all other true stars, leaving two planets suddenly alone and outclassed.

Mr. S. Well also came aboard, arguing with a temperamental wireless connection as he began electronically withdrawing the pokemon he would loan to the Navy divers, and arguing with a new hire who was showing much promise behind a feisty attitude. Despite the boy's lack of years and decidedly dandy styling, he never backed down when Well tried to bully him. In turn, the latter respected Maximilian's moxie, although that was only on the condition that Maximilian always completed his tasks.

Biltmore hollered out from the wheelhouse, “Be ready to dive in six minutes, men. We're just waiting on a report from the smokers.” A team that arrived ahead of the divers was attempting to drive off wildlife using an aquatic form of smoke grenade, but while it made the water around the disaster site murky, it was not fending off any of the more-aggressive species.

James heard the words “six minutes” and “smoke,” and decided it would be a good time to have one. He was halfway through it when a legitimate cough was followed by series of melodramatic forced ones. Turning about with a statement prepared on the topic of non-smokers asserting their personal opinions with melodramatic forced coughs, James paused as he realized he was looking at someone whose field commission du jour was of higher rank than his own real commission.

“Doing that reduces your lungs' capacity and efficiency. Not a preferred situation for a diver, and I do believe that it is against regulation under these conditions.” Mister Well snatched the cigarette away from James and took a drag for himself as he walked back to the cabin.

The divers were separated by task into three teams. Four men were assigned repair duty, bandaging the sunken ship's fuel leak and then repairing the damaged pipeline. Three were to recover the experimental equipment and black box, and two were equipped to cut away any wreckage that blocked the salvage team's path.

James found himself working on the pipeline. Its damage was relatively minor, and the repairs moved quickly. Glancing around just to be sure they were there, he could see Well's pokemon on patrol as shadows against the morning sun above the sea's surface. Occasionally he recognized one of the forms to be a floatzel, and smiled. It had been a long time since Nelson had a chance to enjoy both a good swim and a few good fights with wild pokemon.

* * *

  
The doorbell chimed. James suspended his recollection and attended to his first customer. He was quite surprised to find it to be a lone riolu wearing a halo and wings made of aluminum foil and scrap paper.

“Trick or tr—” Alice paused; she noticed something in the air and sniffed subtly. Three faint but familiar personal scents, and a new fourth one that stood before her.

“I don't have any pokemon treats. Should I expect a trick?”

“Not if you have chocolate!” Alice's eyes twinkled with delight as James tossed a handful of bite-sized chocolate bars into her sack. “Thank you, Mister,” she said with a curtsy, before skipping away pleased that she located a house worth remembering.

* * *

  
“This area sucks! There's like, two houses with lights on for the next two blocks. Matt, your map is stupid.” Solymar snapped her fingers, to which Komo, wearing a cape and a luchador's mask, responded by opening her bag so she could fish out a jawbreaker.

Matthew ignored her insult. “Three houses for the next five blocks. The third house matters.”

Joe noticed that Grace was touching the ground after every few feet that she hovered. “Hey, are you getting tired? We can go home if you are.”

Grace spun about on a peculiar axis to face him. “A little tired, but I won't really look like a ghost if I don't keep trying to float.”

“That's okay. Ghosts kinda creep me out, anyway. Your mismagius is a little too convincing.”

Grace passively scanned Joe's mind and giggled.

“What?”

Tapping the sidewalk with her toe for a boost, Grace floated beside him, rising to match his height. “It's just that deep down you're thinking about how you would like me just the same even if I really were a mismagius.”

Joe began to actively visualize the possibility, and stumbled a bit.

Through a gap in a damaged window shutter, Marianne watched the youths and their companions pass along the sidewalk. Few bothered to travel this block, but those that did were targets. Most she simply harassed by scaring them and when possible, stealing some of her victims' candy. However, after one target released an umbreon on her, the misdreavus felt tolerably content to just watch the trick-or-treaters pass by while enjoying the candy she had already gleaned.

Suspended in her foggy form, a floating peppermint seemed to unwrap itself before drifting into her mouth from below, where her substantiated tongue began to work on its consumption. Its presence distorted her words as she spoke to herself. “Oh, a whole group. Groups are good, groups panic easily.” She took stock of the group's walking pokemon. The alakazam and machoke looked like fun targets, but the combusken and mareep could intercede. She huffed a faint wisp. “Pass.” Resigned to avoiding a second beating, she rolled her peppermint around in a listless manner until she noticed a mismagius among them. The surprise would have seen her choking on the candy if she needed to breathe. Marianne pushed through the window shutter while fading invisible.

“It's good, Joe, because I have a secret.” Grace closed her eyes and reached for Joe's head and turned it to face her. “You see—” With her palms on her temples, she manipulated his perception to see her eyes as shining red and amber instead of green. “—I am one.”

Joe yelled and stumbled backwards, almost falling down.

Roscoe stopped, laughing so hard that the placed his hands on his knees for stability. The rest of the group was left confused, since they were unable to feel psychically how Grace's joke affected Joe, and wondered how it was possible that Joe was startled by his own pokemon.

“That wasn't funny, Grace. I never want to see eyes like that again.”

Grace floated upward again, now about a meter before Joe. “So, you like Psychic eyes better than Ghost eyes?”

Joe gently nodded. “Uh-huh.” A second later, his view of Grace's eyes was blotted out by an inky cloud, and a second after that, it was yelling at him, with angry, red and amber peepers.

“Ghost eyes are beautiful, asshole!” Giving the group no chance to respond, Marianne darted toward Grace, and together their bodies faded with a purple glow and vanished into the darkness of the night, leaving Burner to swallow the ember he was primed to release at the ambushing ghost.

Marianne's shadow-sneak delivered her and her guest to the foyer of the abandoned house. “Tell me where you found it! Or where he found it. I don't care! Where?”

Grace was too stunned to respond coherently at first, although she recognized Marianne's mode of transportation. “What? Found what?”

“Dusk—stone—moron. Where did you get yours?”

“I never had one. I'm not a mismagius.” Grace removed and replaced her witch's hat to illustrate that fact.

Marianne became visibly displeased as she fondled the costume and felt foolish. “You smell like a Ghost. Anyway, if you can't tell me where I can get a dusk stone, you're worthless.” Her voice shifted into a scream. “Get out of my house!” Marianne wrapped Grace's right arm in her tenuous tendrils as she flew in a tight circle around Grace, spinning her about and then slinging her suddenly violet and half-transparent form through the home's front door.

The group had split up and were searching about the entire block when Roscoe sensed Grace's body shifting back into normal matter, and wordlessly teleported himself and Joe to stand beside her as she rolled down the house's approach.

Joe shrugged off the shock of sudden relocation, falling to his knees and lifting his kirlia up from the unkempt yard's shaggy grass. “Grace! Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Let's go before she comes back.”

The group reassembled on the sidewalk, and Matthew made a note to avoid this street in the future.

* * *

  
“Oh, fuck. Fuck! It shifted!” James' radio was half static and all garbled, but there was no mistaking the panic in that voice. The channel was filled with tense voices and many broken utterances.

Eventually one voice came through clear, that of the Skipper. “Alpha Team, is the damage repaired enough that you can leave it? Over.”

Alpha's leader responded, “Affirmative, Sir; over.”

“Alright, drop it and get over to the sub to help Charlie Team with the wreckage. Something broke loose and all three on Bravo Team are trapped inside. Out.”

Inside the boat, the welders worked on cutting away the blockage, but their air tanks were almost depleted. Soon, too, would be the tanks of the men inside.

Biltmore spoke again a few minutes later. “Alpha, Charlie, you boys have to come up. We've got a rescue specialist on a fast boat coming out; hold on Bravo, we're going to get you out of there.”

As the divers began to ascend, James looked back and saw Nelson struggling through a gap in the wreckage. Without a means to communicate with his pokemon, James headed upward. A few moments after returning to the boat, James heard Nelson barking near the starboard hull. With a few loose gestures, James figured out that Nelson was asking for another pony bottle; the one he carried had been removed. “Skipper, do we have any more air? Nelson thinks he can get it to them!”

Nelson disappeared beneath the waves just as a boat carrying the rescue specialist arrived.

Equipped with a camera on his gear, the men watched the specialist at work as he carefully cut away at the wreckage, stopping only to let Nelson through a few times. Soon, he had the hole opened wide enough for a diver to pass through. As he entered, the screen went almost completely blank, with the only light coming from the specialist's flashlight when its beam waved across the camera's field of view. The beam flashed only a few times before the feed stopped showing anything but black.

Tensions were eased as the specialist and one member of Bravo team surfaced. “Camera's out,” the specialist quipped, ripping it from his gear and throwing it into the boat. Not long afterward, he returned with another man and with Nelson, who stole a fresh breath and dove again. “Whose pokemon is that?”

James identified himself. “Mine, Sir.”

“He's the hero on this op'.” The specialist submerged.

* * *

  
Mr. Rainier returned to present times, again summoned by his doorbell. After serving some costumed kids, James took a sheet of paper, wrote upon it, “Take one,” and left the shallow crate on his doorstep. He was not interested in having his recollection be disturbed again, despite not being particularly interested in remembering the incident anyway.

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Matthew's pace picked up. “There it is!”

Solymar yawned. “It better be handing out wallets full of money.”

Matthew responded without much emotion. “It's better than that.”

The home that Matthew insisted they all visit together was very plain and of simple construction. Its yard was accented by two cherry trees, a rock garden, and a small pond with a small fountain and large goldfish, over which a wooden bridge crossed. While the property seemed out-of-place among suburban homes from the outside, within its fence it felt almost like a miniature temple. Sam, in his samurai costume, appeared to fit right in for some reason. Upon the home's porch stood a xatu at the right, and sat an absol at the left.

The absol spoke to greet them with a gentle, although distinctly bestial, voice, “Welcome, children. Bring your companions forth to be seen.”

Solymar barged ahead. “Yeah, yeah, where's the candy?”

Harmony's gentle voice lowered slightly. “There is no candy for humans here.”

“Then what's the point?”

Harmony nodded toward a bowl on the porch between herself and the xatu. “You may take a fortune cookie if you like.”

“Komo, we're going home.”

Komo dutifully followed his trainer, and forfeited his opportunity to receive a treat from the temple.

Matthew observed protocol and presented Roscoe. The xatu leaned forward and stared into Roscoe's eyes for some time before breaking away, picking up from a table beside him a small box with a wire handle in his beak, and giving it to Roscoe, who accepted the gift with a nod. Following Matthew's lead, Terrance, Percival, and Joe presented their pokemon for evaluation. Each received a box according to the xatu's perception. Every box was sealed with a label bearing a legend written in a very fine hand.

Burner read his aloud as the group departed. “ ‘Your gift resides within another. This key may open a lock beneath the mid-day sun.’ What does that mean?” he asked.

Joe shrugged. “Beats me.”

Grace read hers next. “Patience, until each is wholly doubtless.” Grace opened her box and removed a necklace with a very dull rock hanging from it as a pendant. “What's this thing?”

Percival took a look at it. “It's an everstone. It suppresses pokemon evolution. Maybe the spooky bird thinks you should stay the way you are for a while.”

Grace put the necklace back in its box, dropped it into Joe's candy sack, and grumbled, “Maybe he should mind his own business.” Burner dropped his inside as well, unopened.

With the temple that was Matthew's intended high-point of their raid behind them, the group began fracturing, with each remaining member following a path home, leaving Percival and Joe to travel together after Matthew and Terrance split away. Hearing indistinct P.A. voices emanating from the park, they detoured to investigate. At the park, a local television station was running a costume contest and talent show. Almost anyone had a chance at winning something, independent of the quality or theme of their costume or performance, since prizes were awarded according to how many judges on the panel approved of the display.

Percival, Joe, and their pokemon joined the audience just in time to see what would be the big winner of the night. Not a true magician, since his secret was given away by his introduction as “Delano and His Dozen Dittos.” Delano nonetheless amazed the crowd as his talented pokemon helped generate the illusion of Delano performing numerous famous magic tricks in a continuous and overlapping performance, seemingly summoning assistants, props, animals, and even extra Delanoes at-will to create a parody of traditional magic that arguably excelled beyond the source art. With a favorable vote from all of the judges, Delano received a handsome cash prize.

Knowing it would be a tough act to follow, the event's organizers delayed talent contestants for a while to help ensure that they would get a fair shake. An aide scouted the audience for potential costume contestants, and convinced Sam and Grace to appear on-stage, where a voiced jynx introduced the costume contestants like runway models at a high-profile fashion show. Both received a handful of favorable votes, and were awarded prizes of League Market gift cards and hats bearing the television station's logo. After a moment in the spotlight, Percival, Joe, and their pokemon were ready to go home, sit down, and dig into their bounty. Soon after they left Rennin Park, an acquaintance took the stage.

The jynx's voice flowed lyrically through the P.A. system. “Next up, with a costume made completely of recycled materials, Alice!”

A riolu confidently strode up to the jynx at the center of the stage and spun about to show everyone the refined scrap that she wore.

“Wow, you really do look like a little angel. Tell us why you chose to make this costume.”

Alice gave a quick glance to the judges. “Because my daddy had to go away so I would be okay. My trainer said he is an angel now, and I wanted him to look down and see that I still think about him.”

The jynx aimed to lighten the subject. “Oh, that's so nice of you. Is your trainer out there watching you tonight?” She gestured toward the audience, normally a cue for one of the cameramen to zoom in on the contestant's trainer—the jynx was unaware that this pokemon came unaccompanied.

“He had to go away, too. I hope he is watching me, though.”

The jynx broke a sweat, rare for an Ice-type, and turned the attention to the judges. Most suspected this to be a ploy, and rightfully so to a small degree, but a few sympathized and voted to award Alice a prize. Enough did so to secure the riolu a gift card. Alice was satisfied, as her cash cache was beginning to run thin.

* * *

  
“I am,” whispered Prisoner H1432.

Across the table from him, Prisoner W3917 barked, “You am what? Call or fold!”

Prisoner H1432 jumped slightly in his chair, turned away from the television, looked at Prisoner W3917's nicotine chips, and folded a full house before looking back at the screen. It was not a good idea to win too much from him at a time.

Prisoner W3917 raked in his pot. Raked being an appropriate verb, since his right hand was rather deformed and half-paralyzed around a large and grotesque scar. He looked up at the television and scowled at the creature he saw. “You like those things?”

“What?”

“Lucarios; riolus, whatever. You're looking a little interested in that mutt.”

Prisoner H1432 could see something in Prisoner W3917's eyes. “Oh. No, well. I just haven't seen a pokemon that looked like that; blue fur on a puppy dog.”

“Those things aren't dogs. Dogs have a natural sense of hierarchy and respect. See this shit?” Prisoner W3917 brandished his right hand. “That's what happens when one of those puppy dogs gets big and thinks it's the man of the house.”

Another inmate sat at the table with a handful of smokes. “Yo, deal me in.”

Prisoner H1432 glanced back at the screen, which had moved on to a commercial break. Alice was once again as absent from his life as she was before she appeared on the recreation room's television, yet somehow the void she left now seemed larger. He pushed a couple smokes in as an ante and waited for his cards. He glanced across to the dealer. Prisoner W3917 still had that look in his eyes.

* * *

  
Joe picked up a crate containing two empty bowls as he entered his home. His father was staring blankly at the television over a bottle of imported bourbon and an empty tumbler on the coffee table. Burner made a bee-line to the pokemon room to discard his costume.

“We're back,” Joe announced.

James did not so much look toward his son as let his head roll in his direction. “Have fun?”

“Yeah, got a lot of candy and Grace was on T.V.; did you see?”

James had not really noticed that he at some point turned the television on again. “I guess I missed that. I was thinking about some things.” He poured himself a little more.

“I guess I'll just get the make-up off of Grace and go to bed.”

“Sounds good.”

* * *

  
Standing in the tub, Grace twitched and moaned briefly as Joe's hands crossed her temples. He felt from her a spark of psychic sensation, un-directed and accidental, as though she had been shocked for a moment, “There, you did it again.”

Grace glanced back at him, over her shoulder. “Yes, because you did it again.”

“I'm sorry, but this crap isn't washing out like it said it would.” According to its labeling, the costume dye that Joe used on Grace's hair would rinse out with two or three douses of shampoo. This was round five and her blue hair still showed numerous streaks of purple.

“Don't be sorry. I think I like it when you do that.”

Joe squeezed a little more shampoo onto his palm and lathered it up. “You didn't like it the first few times I bumped them.” He reached beneath the longer parts of her hair, beneath her antennae and across three small nubs on each side of her face. As he brushed them, she twitched again, but whined instead of moaned. Joe recoiled a bit as she projected her emotion briefly. “Ow! What is with those things?”

Her eyes watering, Grace telekinetically brought the massaging shower head within reach and sprayed both sides of her head. Then, she turned to face away from him while offering the sprayer's flow at one side. “Here, rinse the shampoo off your hands and do it.”

Joe complied. He started with gentle touches, but soon felt a foreign urge suggesting he trace small circles around her gills.

With a slowly-widening grin, she began to hum a low tone and leaned back toward Joe until she began to lose her balance, half slipping and catching herself with reflexive levitation at the cost of dropping the shower head into the basin. Righting herself, she turned to face Joe, placed her palms on his temples and stole his first real kiss.

“Grace! Why did you—” Joe paused as he realized that he knew why. “I don't know if it's okay for us to do that. I mean, you're a—”

“Joe.” She froze him with her green-eyed stare. “There's an expression, that things happen the way they do for a reason. Do you believe that's true?”

“I guess so.”

Grace smiled and turned away from Joe, handing him the shower head. “Watch. I'd bet the dye will wash out this time.”

One wash and rinse later, each strand of Grace's hair displayed the same cyan hue.

Joe disrobed and showered himself briefly while Grace, kneeling on the counter before the mirror, dried her hair and combed it out. She sensed a presence nearby, and focused to send it a telepathic message. “My mother was willing to put my life in his hands; why won't you trust me to hold them?”

An eavesdropper on the other side of the door allowed loose ice cubes sloshing against a glass tumbler's wall be his only response as he sulked away.

Inside Joe's room, Grace was already making herself comfortable beneath Joe's covers as he entered to dress for bed. “Uh, you know, you're supposed to sleep in the other room.”

Grace would have arched an eyebrow if she had any as she glowered at him.

“I know you like sleeping in my bed with me, and I like sleeping by you, too. But, Dad doesn't like it and even if you're sure we'll get away with it, I don't like breaking the rules. I am supposed to be proving I can handle more responsibility by keeping pokemon. I don't want him to change his mind.”

Grace stood upon his bed and beckoned him near. She placed her hands on his temples and asked him to do the same to hers. Joe felt a confusing and noisy sensation as she synchronized with him for a moment. She broke the connection with a peck of a kiss. “I'll see you in the morning. Dream about me.”

“Uh—” Before he could respond, she teleported away. Joe turned off his light and climbed into bed. Rubbing his arm across the place on the bed she lay upon a moment before, the warmth he felt made him second-guess his ordering her to sleep in the pokemon room.

As he lost consciousness, a red necklace surrounded by purple fog seeped through his door. Above it, a pair of red and amber eyes plus a devious smirk:“Yes, do dream about her. I'm hungry,” whispered Marianne, as she hovered in wait.

* * *

  
Petty Officer Rainier stared out over the ocean as the sky's darkness rolled in from the East, blackening the blood red hue that surrounded a setting sun in the West.

Behind him at a short distance, he heard a young man's voice: one half of a conversation. “That's Rainier over there. Does it matter? Yes, Sir, I didn't mean—. You hired me to do a job and I'm doing it even if it inconveniences you. Make it fast, Sir, you're already sure to be late.”

The older man's voice was indistinct during that exchange till the very end, when he turned to face the incidental eavesdropper's direction. “They will wait for me.”

Mister Well stood beside James and offered a platitude. “The loss of two friends in one day is much to bear. I can't change the outcome of today's operation, but I would like to mitigate it somewhat.” Well held a pokeball before James' face, the invasion of his personal space being taken as an insult.

“What's this?”

“A floatzel. One that can benefit from the care of a trainer who is experienced with its species. I know that it can't replace the one you lost, but—”

“That's right! It can't replace Nelson. Why are you acting as if it could; do I look like some kid, you can just pat on the head and say you'll get me another one?”

Mister Well smiled for a moment. It was a morbid smile. Then, he laughed. It was a terrible laugh. James' expression turned to one of disgust.

“I know what you're feeling. You're conflicted. You wish you could go back and put him back in his ball so he would be alive right now. You wish that, even though you know that if your genie snapped his fingers, three men would have died today instead of one man and an animal.”

James lit up a cigarette and said nothing.

“Listen to me. Your pokemon made a decision, you trusted him to make it, and two men will see that sun rise again tomorrow because of that. Your floatzel did not die in vain, like—like some pokemon do.” Well held up the ball again.

James looked beyond the ball and the man who held it, and saw Skipper in the distance, giving him an instructive nod.

“Anything for you, Mister Well.” James accepted the ball with a loose grip.

Mister Well noted the sarcasm in James' voice and aimed to return it. “Have a nice day, and don't smoke. It's bad for your health.” Accompanied by his aide, Simon departed to attend to his more-typical business matters.

Captain Biltmore approached James. “I've arranged some leave for everyone involved. Don't kick yourself for putting him in the water. I know of a Mrs. Ramirez and a Mrs. Marriott who won't be receiving letters in the mail with my signature at the bottom telling them about how their sons died.”

James pulled a long drag on his cigarette. “When I let him out, I told him he was going for a swim, and his eyes lit up like when we were kids. I know what he thought. I always promised him when my time was up and I got out of this uniform, we'd get a place with a pool so he could swim every day. Every time I let him out of his ball, he'd look around eagerly for a second to see if he was released inside his new home. Every time I put him back in, I repeated my promise. I felt like that guy from that book they make you read in school, telling his idiot pal about how they'd get a place to farm and raise rabbits. In the end, George didn't come through, either.”

James extracted one last puff from his cigarette. As its smoke cleared, James noticed a single small cloud in the sky near the western horizon, glowing bright with the final rays of a submerged sun.

* * *

  
A red necklace, glowing eerily with freshly-harvested energy, seeped through James' bedroom door. Shining eyes above it looked him over. “That's a big one,” Marianne thought, “but I bet I can take it all.”

* * *

  
An interesting fact about zombies is that, despite having a thoroughly degraded sensory system, they possess an uncanny ability to shamble about without colliding with each other or typical objects that surround them. While legend holds that zombification is induced either by practical means such as voodoo magic—should one find that to be truly practical—or by supernatural means that creatively give an excuse for infected or deceased bodies to become whipped up into a brain-eating frenzy, a less dramatic technique can induce a zombie-like state without risk of overdose or having ones entrails soon be ripped out by the test subject. Allowing a pokemon that knows the dream-eater technique to gorge itself freely upon the subconsciousness of someone deeply asleep, preferably someone who does not typically enjoy lucid dreams which would allow a means of escape, will leave that person to awaken feeling so emotionally and mentally drained that they will do little after rising but stagger about and moan incoherently until at least a half-hour passes and two cups of black coffee begin to metabolize.

James, Joe, Grace, and Burner wandered around the kitchen with their hands rubbing eyes and foreheads, stumbling clumsily in a macabre ballet of cereal bowls, slices of bread, and pre-cut meats. None present had the energy to deal with anything that was neither ready-to-eat nor could be prepared with eyes half-closed.

Seated at the table, Joe opted for a sugary, candy-flavored cereal. Grace started with just lemonade, but soon took a spoon of her own and started stealing from Joe's bowl. Burner's breakfast was quite distinct, a whole-grain cereal awash in tap water turned brine with a generous helping of table salt.

James, standing beside an island, broke the silence by uttering the first intelligible syllables of the morning. “Who took my food?”

Joe and his pokemon looked at James quizzically, but knew not what he was talking about nor why.

“My sandwich. I turned to get cheese, I turned back, now I don't have a sandwich.” He gestured at the bare plate before him, clean except for tell-tale bread crumbs.

“Wasn't me, Dad.”

Grace tilted her head and shrugged, while psychically pushing the chunks of cereal in Joe's bowl into a cluster so the two of them could scoop more efficiently.

Burner held up his bowl and poured its remainder into his opened beak.

James idly drummed the island's counter with his fingertips. “I guess I'll try again.” He laid bread upon his plate, and followed it with ham. He turned to the refrigerator as though he needed cheese, despite still having two wrapped slices nearby. A wide, purple mouth below bright, striking eyes quickly breached the surface of the island and nabbed the second sandwich, pulling it downward through the plate. James turned about to catch the thief, but barely glimpsed a few trailing strands of violet fog. “Joe, how many pokemon do you have?”

An obviously-loaded question was a cause for concern. Joe hoped to play it safe. “Two?”

“Is that right? Since I'm not getting anywhere with this, I'm going to pick up some fast food.” James shoved his wallet and keys into his shorts pocket, put on a pair of sandals, and departed.

A moment after James left, the phone rang. Joe did not bother to answer it, leaving it to the machine. “Hey, Joe; we're making it a park day. I'm leaving in fifteen minutes. Come on if you want to train.”

Burner's eyes fixated on Joe, who was pouring himself some more cereal since Grace ate much of his first bowl. “I don't feel like going to the park today, but if you catch Percy on his way out, you can go with him.” Burner gave Joe a quick hug and headed toward the front door. Grace trailed behind him, but did not evade Joe's notice. “Hey; you want to go to the park, too?”

She turned about and hovered, crossing her arms. “I want to spend today with you. But, I also want to develop my skills, and since you don't seem to, I have to choose.”

“It's not that I don't want you to get stronger. I do, but—” Joe slipped from his chair and approached her, “I never thought I would have a pokemon; at least, not one like you.”

“Is that bad?”

“That's not what I mean. It's like you're trying to take us somewhere, and I don't know enough about pokemon to know where that is, exactly.”

Grace extended her arms to Joe and felt his thoughts for a moment. “I guess I'll give you a little time to think about it. But, just a little.” She vanished with a flash, and seconds later drifted through the living room from the pokemon's room, wearing an everstone pendant. “I'll see you later, Joe.”

Joe had no chance to think about much, as the moment Grace departed, a cool sensation behind him caused him to turn and find himself being stared down by a ghost.

“Your house is a lot nicer than what's left of my old one, so I'm moving in here. If you want me out, get me a dusk stone and I'll think about it. Until then, consider yourself haunted.” Marianne drifted up through the ceiling, but re-appeared a moment later, upside down. “Oh, and if you try to do something to me, the psychic gets it. I'm saving by best shadow-ball just for her.”

Joe sighed. “And then, there were three.”

* * *

  



	6. Ascensions

 

* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 6: Ascensions.  
  


* * *

  
Grace picked herself up from Rennin Gymnasium's floor using the common method and walked to its ring-side seating to meet with Joe, whose expression was slightly more annoyed than concerned. She managed to levitate after covering a short distance, although her toes were dragging behind herself.  
  
Joe reached out to her and brushed her disheveled hair back into order. “Have you had enough for today?”  
  
Grace leapt up against Joe's chest, compelling him to catch her. She sighed softly. “I could go a couple more rounds if you're up to it.”  
  
“I'm not the one getting hit,” Joe said as he began carrying her with him to another circle where Burner was warming up in preparation for a match.  
  
“But you are feeling every blow you see me take. Joe, in that last moment before she left, my mother,” Grace paused to find an appropriate adjective, “communicated a few things to me; why she was leaving me with you and what she hoped you would do for me and what I could do for you. She wanted you to protect me from those men, and you did. She wanted you to give me a home, and you did. She hoped you could give me not just care, but family and love, and I have it—”  
  
A referee signaled the beginning of Burner's match. Burner charged a bastiodon standing opposite him with a fierce battle cry.  
  
“—but I need you to trust me; that I know what I'm doing. Bumps and bruises now are what I need to become strong enough to protect myself, because if something truly threatening comes, you won't be able to protect me, Joe, and I will be the only thing that can protect you.”  
  
Joe and Grace's attention was drawn from their conversation as Burner shrieked and, using a move that looked suspiciously like a blaze-kick, sent his foe flying into a neighboring circle where it collided with an armaldo that was about to water-gun a graveler.  
  
Grace shrugged. “Okay, one of two things.”  
  
A Rennin Gym staff member approached Joe. “Congratulations to you and your combusken. With this victory he is qualified to play in today's spotlight matches. However, excessive throws are not permitted in League, including our public-entry events. Instruct your pokemon to use proper restraint or you risk disqualification.”  
  
Burner staggered up near Joe, Grace, and the referee out of breath. “Master Joe, I think—” He grimaced and fell forward, gripping Joe's jacket and tearing it in a few places with his claws. “—it's happening. But, it burns. Cold!”  
  
The referee's eyes grew wide. “Come with me.” He ushered Joe, Grace, and Burner to the facility's back halls and sent the shivering combusken into one of the rooms, locking its pocket door behind him.  
  
Joe was rightfully concerned. “Hey, what's wrong with him? Isn't he just evolving?”  
  
“That one came from a private breeder, didn't it?”  
  
Joe nodded in affirmation. “I think so. He was a gift.”  
  
Burner began to shriek wildly; the chamber door did not provide much sound dampening.  
  
“A couple of breeding outfits favor a particular blaziken bloodline that's exceptionally strong and fast, but it sometimes suffers a very violent evolution to final-form.” A loud thud resonated from behind the wall. “It would probably be best if you'll wait in our lobby.”  
  


* * *

  
Grace sat in Joe's lap and idly tuned-in to thoughts of people crossing the room. Most of the foot traffic was of kids who heard about an open-entry event and brought their pet pokemon to the gym, not expecting to receive such a sound and immediate thrashing for their trouble.  
  
Joe was ambiguously concerned. He remembered Grace's first evolution and the bloody feathers in the undeveloped lots from Burner's first, and wondered just what his friend was enduring now. Grace picked up on Joe's curiosity and tried to detect Burner's psyche from afar, but doing so only brought her a vision of absolute agony from his perspective, his eyes watering with pain as his now lanky and distorted body struggled to harness an energy inside that seemed to want to make him not grow but burst. Flames streaming from his newly-reshaped wrists and ankles suggested that the latter result might come to pass.  
  
Tuning-out proved more difficult than tuning-in, and Grace began squirming sympathetically for a moment, before her mind was drawn like a magnet to another psychic presence. One of her own kind.  
  
Joe asked Grace, “What are you staring at?” as she watched the gym's entrance intently. A trainer in his early twenties came inside with a gardevoir gliding behind him. Joe's question now answered, he watched with great interest as his pokemon and the stranger's subtly interacted. A glance, a twitch of a wrist, a blink, a wiggle of a gill; these were the only outward clues of their conversation. The trainer quickly filled out a card to schedule floor time for a League match, submitted it to the attendant, and turned to leave. His gardevoir trailed behind him, but paused as they passed by Joe and Grace. It bent forward and placed its palms on Grace's temples for a moment. Letting go, it stared into Joe's eyes.  
  
Joe felt himself being probed, and in such a way that he could not react to it. It reminded him of Grace's inducing paralysis in him. As he remembered that, the gardevoir stopped for a heartbeat, tilted its head slightly, and probed him again. After five seconds, the gardevoir smiled and turned away to rejoin her master, who was waiting patiently at the doors. As they exited, a cold gust of winter air blew through the lobby.  
  
“Grace, do you know what that was about?” Joe fully expected her to synchronize with him and explain in detail, her mind speaking directly to his own.  
  
Grace drew his arms across herself like a safety belt and said nothing as she rested against his body.  
  
Soon, the referee that had locked Burner away approached them. “Your pokemon's evolution is complete. He's being checked-out by our staff nurse as a formality. You can wait here if you like, but he did ask for you.” The referee led Joe and Grace to the rear corridors again, to a different door that revealed something much like a pokecenter treatment room. Within he found Burner sitting on its exam table.  
  
Joe's blaziken's eyes lit up when his master appeared in the doorway. “Master Joe! How do I look?”  
  
The nurse stuck a long thermometer probe deep into Burner's mouth and warned him not to bite down on its leads.  
  
Joe was rather stunned. “Oh, wow. You're—even more impressive.”  
  
Burner bounded off of the table and reached Joe in one stride. Realizing the now-reversed disparity between their heights, the blaziken knelt to one knee and gripped Joe in a powerful hug. An audino whistled and slapped the exam table's cushion, to which Burner reluctantly returned. Joe whipped out his T.D. and called up information on the blaziken species. It claimed an average height of six-foot-three. He discreetly got the nurse's attention and took her aside while Grace approached Burner and offered to converse psychically since his mouth was occupied.  
  
“Isn't he a little tall?” Joe asked with a muted tone.  
  
The nurse hummed and prepared an injection. “The tallest blaziken I've ever met in person.”  
  
“The ref said he had a weird evolution because of some genetic thing, is that why?”  
  
The nurse suppressed a smirk; this was not the first time that a young and inexperienced trainer felt suddenly intimidated by his developed starter. “Genetics can explain the average height of a population, but not an individual. Much of that is up to chance and circumstance. I've heard some old wives' tales about giving a pokemon a magic item or rare candy to make them stronger or taller when they evolve, but it's all hogwash.” She leaned in close with a hand on Joe's shoulder and spoke low. “When they opened that door, the only thing all 215 centimeters of him wanted to do was see you; that is, you being yourself. The only effect his new body should have on your relationship is to bring you closer together.”  
  
Grace's eyes were narrowed. “At least he lets you evolve.” She removed one hand to jiggle the everstone necklace she wore.  
  
Mouth still occupied, Burner let Grace read his internal monologue for his reply. “You probably still have a bit more to go, since you don't win fights as much as I do. Even if you are ready to evolve and that thing is stopping you, didn't it come with a warning to be patient or something? Maybe the old man who made those Halloween gifts knows things.”  
  
The nurse approached and took Burner's thermometer while wearing a glove that looked somewhat like an oven mitt. “Sixty-three degrees-C on the inside. A little low, but it will probably come into the seventies in a couple days.” The audino approached with a tray holding a number of syringes. “Alright, time for shots. Show me you're a brave bird and lie on your belly for me.”  
  
The blaziken glanced at the size of her needles and gulped a bit. He glanced at Joe, who returned a nod and a subtle smile.  
  
Burner assumed the position.  
  


* * *

  
“Mister Rainier, how good of you to answer your door. May I come in?” Mister Well crossed James' welcome mat with a nod and a smile, and with an articuno following leisurely behind.  
  
“Care for a look around?” James asked sarcastically as the old man wandered through the Rainier home.  
  
Mister Well soon found his way to the breakfast table and seated himself. James followed and sat opposite, arms folded. Ivana continued touring on her own, enjoying its quaint and practical design.  
  
“I'll be honest, James—oh, I do hope you don't mind a loss of formality.”  
  
“Anything for you, Simon.”  
  
Mister Well smiled and leaned back slightly. “I've been on a bit of a losing streak lately, and this shiny ralts thing has been stuck in my craw. I would like to turn it into a win, just for the principle. I would like to ask you to convince your son to trade her to me. I can secure for him pretty much any pokemon he would like, of course,” Simon reached out to pet his articuno as she returned to his side, “with a few particular exceptions, that is, and you too will be rewarded for your effort.”  
  
“If you want to offer a trade, fine; I'll leave that decision up to him. But, I'm not going to look him in the eye and tell him that he should do business with someone like you. My son's respect is worth more to me than anything you could offer.”  
  
“Is it? Time heals all wounds, if you let it. How much time will you have to enjoy that respect, after spending all your money on that new pool instead of applying it toward treatment?”  
  
James' eyes grew wide—as did those of Marianne, who hovered discretely above the refrigerator—and he unfolded his arms. “How did you find out about that?”  
  
“You know I have my sources. I'm willing to scratch your back if you'll scratch mine. Of course, if you still wish to leave this matter between him and me, I won't mention this lagniappe that I will still honor. I would not want him to feel like he's being extorted. Emotions cloud judgments, especially in children and young adults. Do you have alcohol in this house?”  
  
“A little.”  
  
“Pour two fingers for each of us. I have a little story that I would like to share with you.”  
  


* * *

  
Joe pedaled his bicycle carefully through the few inches of snowfall that covered much of the sidewalk. “It's in my account, but you earned it. It's your money.”  
  
Burner jogged behind his master, leaving a trail of snow-free circles wherever his feet touched ground. He claimed that he wanted to see if his stamina increased with his evolution, but truly Burner just felt like showing off to his neighborhood that he had achieved his first goal in life before his master chose to journey, ensuring him an advantage in early competition. “I need to buy you a new jacket.”  
  
“Buy something you want, Burner. This jacket will stitch up okay.” Joe came to a stop at a traffic signal. He looked back at Burner, who was still standing tall, but with a sullen expression. “Hey, I'm not turning you down. I just don't want to get it now, wear it a couple months, put it in my closet, and out-grow it by next winter. Give my body some time to try to catch up with yours first, big guy. Then you can get me something that I can wear forever.”  
  
The light changed and they continued homeward.  
  
“A controller,” Burner next suggested.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I also broke your game controller. I can replace it, now.”  
  
“Burner, I said I want you to buy something for yourself.”  
  
They turned a corner to head down their home street. Hearing familiar voices and looking up from shoveling the Finnegan home's driveway, Sam's jaw dropped when he saw what had become of Burner. So much for that promise he made to spar again after the grovyle evolved; even as a sceptile, Sam knew that he would need to overdose on x-defend just to stand his ground against a blaziken like that. Burner waved to him energetically; Sam raised his right arm in response, the icy weather and physical labor having drained any vestige of energetic from his body.  
  
Joe pulled into his driveway and parked his bicycle alone, as Burner had paused to looked at his home from near the mailbox, realizing that the interior will have shrunken again, one last time. He called ahead to Joe as they approached the front door from different positions. “It will be for myself. I want to be able to play games with you, and against you, again.”  
  
“Alright, it's your money. If that's what you want.” Joe entered his house twisted sideways to see and speak behind himself. “But, I'm not going to let you win just so you don't get frustrated and break the new—oof!” As Joe turned forward again, he walked directly into a broad breast of bright, blue-tinted feathers.  
  
Ivana wrapped her left wing around Joe and cooed. Then, she shooed him away to rub elbows with the fiery hunk that stepped inside next.  
  
Joe instinctively covered Grace's dive ball with his hand when he neared the kitchen and saw Mr. Well seated at the breakfast table. Burner noticed Joe's motion, and shifted into a more-readied stance. Ivana churred: she liked watching males being manly.  
  
James wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. “Joe, this is Mr. Simon Well; who we've met before. He wants to trade for Grace.”  
  
Mister Well was slightly annoyed by James' bluntness, but soldiered on. “I'm willing to offer you almost any pokemon in the world. Aside from Ivana,” Simon glanced her way as she stood against Burner, “assuming she doesn't decide to stay here for the meat, and a few legends that I have only zero or one of, name the species and it's yours. Gender and nature I can probably match too, and of course I will ensure that you still have a shiny on your belt. If I don't have one in the species you choose, then choose another species and you get a two-for-one.”  
  
Joe's expression hinted at disgust after hearing Simon's proposition. “Wha—no. Not in a million years! I don't care about pokemon; I care about my fr—” Joe rubbed Grace's ball with his fingertips and looked into Burner's eyes, “—my family.”  
  
James did not let twitch a single muscle. Simon slowly rose from his chair. “If that's how you see them.” He produced a business card and handed it to Joe. “For when you correct your perspective. You will get Max, my personal assistant. He knows your name and why you will be calling.” Mister Well replaced his hat and saw himself out. “Ivana, come along; you can't take him home with you.”  
  
Ivana squawked low, plucked a feather from beneath her wing with her beak, and stabbed it into Burner's mane like she were resting a quill in an inkwell after penning a bold declaration. She exited behind Mr. Well with an arrogant strut.  
  
Joe turned to face his father. “What was that about?”  
  
“Did you have fun at the gym? I can see Burner had a big day.”  
  
“Y—yeah. He won some prize money, too. Can you take us to Linalool Mall? He wants to buy a new controller so we can play video games together again.”  
  
“I can do that later.” James picked up the shot glasses, re-lidded his bottle of scotch and, gestured with it toward Joe. “After I give this an hour or two to wear off.”  
  


* * *

  
Sam shivered and shook away some light flakes of snow that settled upon him as he worked before entering his home. Glancing to his left, he saw Frankie gnawing on beef jerky and surfing channels. A local broadcast warned of even colder weather tonight with heavy winds.  
  
He slowly trudged to his master's chamber, turned on a pair of heat lamps above his cot, and collapsed gently onto his bedding. “Your chores are done.”  
  
Percival did not look away from his homework. “Thanks.”  
  
Sam wiggled his shoulders, hoping to loosen a tightness that had been born of strain and chill as broad-spectrum light soaked through his scales. “The T.V. said it will be a bad night.”  
  
“Cross your claws. I don't think I'm going to get anything better than a ‘C’ unless tomorrow's a snow day.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Poetry analysis. It's all crap; a bunch of guys making things up and writing them down. But, if I don't figure out what I'm supposed to have to say about it, I'm toast.”  
  
Sam flipped over to expose his belly to the lamps' glow.  
  
Percival dropped his pencil into the fold of his opened textbook and rested his forehead on his knuckles. “Ugh. I just don't get this.”  
  
“If you can't beat them, join them,” Sam   
  
“What?”  
  
“You tried fighting against this assignment. Now, fight beside it. Write your own made-up free verse poetry that your teacher will think is about this assignment.”  
  
“You know if my grades aren't high enough, the League won't let me journey next summer.”  
  
His body warmed and metabolism normal again, Sam's stomach growled. “I help Master when I can, but I do not worry about Master's affairs.” Sam rolled off of his cot and exited.  
  
In the kitchen he met Delilah who was fixing-up cocoa. “Plenty of leftovers in there; y'all can just graze tonight.”  
  
Sam popped into the fridge to find a cup of fruit cocktail and brought a cup of cocoa with him to give to Percival.  
  
A small shelf above his cot held all that the grovyle could call his own. A bonsai tree and a small box of supplies to tend to it dominated the scene. A few books stood in a row—thick, old, and rather rarefied in subject matter for a pokemon, although there were not many able pokemon who cared to read books at all. After placing the cocoa on Percival's desk, Sam brought his bonsai down beneath the lights and examined it for places to prune. “Burner evolved.”  
  
“That was fast.” Percival struck out a line of his supposedly-poetic attempt to write fluff answers to fluff questions on a fluff assignment. “Frankie should still be able to give him some trouble until you catch up.”  
  
Sam hesitated for a moment, closed his eyes, and imagined. He shook his head. When he opened his eyes, he had decided on one spot to trim on his tree. He replaced it on his self and brought down a book to read.  
  
Percival scratched out another draft paragraph and discarded his pencil again. “This isn't going to work. It's all crap.” He reached for a mug of cocoa that mysteriously appeared beside him at some point.  
  
Sam propped up a pillow against the wall to rest against and opened to his bookmark. “Good. You said the same thing about your assigned poetry.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So, you must have figured it out to produce more of it. If you understand it, you can complete your assignment.”  
  
“What I've produced is ridiculous, Sam!”  
  
Sam paused as he remembered something, before flipping back to page 214. “Ridiculum acri fortius et melius magnas plerumque secat res.”  
  
Percival rolled his eyes. “Are those wizard words? What does that mean to me?”  
  
“The ridiculous often cuts down imposing things. I think.”  
  
“Well then, thanks for the inspirational fortune cookie message. You've been a lot of help.” Percival's sarcasm was not diluted by the cocoa that he did not have to get for himself.  
  
Sam limited his response to picking at his cup of fruit chippings with a smirk and a plastic fork.  
  


* * *

  
As Joe and Burner exchanged boastful small-talk while waiting for their game's splash screens to pass by, Grace slipped away unnoticed. With Joe's T.D. in-hand, she headed for the pokemon room, but felt an odd sensation coming from James as she passed through the living room, and despite that forewarning, jumped a little when he called her name.  
  
“Grace. Sit down over here.”  
  
She floated backwards to the love-seat and settled upon it, sitting with her knees near her chest. A defensive posture felt right for the situation.  
  
“A man visited this home, today. The same man who sent a couple goons into the forest to catch a certain ralts. Did you know this?”  
  
“Not really. Inside my ball, I felt that Joe was very tense and angry for a moment but that's all. I also noticed he was hiding something emotionally since he released me tonight. You've been, too.”  
  
“A few months ago, I made a decision. A hard one, but I think the right one, given our circumstances. Mister Well today altered those circumstances a bit.”  
  
Grace noticed his hesitation at explaining further. “If it is hard to explain, you can let me look.”  
  
“No. You'll never do that to me again.” James hung his head for a moment before turning to Grace. “Look me in my eyes and tell me you will take care of him for me when I can't.”  
  
“I promise you, I will do anything for his well-being.”  
  
James cracked half of a smile, the most he had ever shown her, and waved her away. As she neared her room's door, she looked back and ventured to infer his mental state. It was the first time that she sensed him thinking of her as part of his household.  
  
Inside her room, Grace propped up some pillows to lean against and began exploring Joe's trainer's device. She idly studied entries for pokemon species that she recognized and even spent a little time playing a built-in game that let trainers try pitting a simulation of their team against those of other trainers. Grace felt a cold sensation against her right shoulder as she investigated an option labeled “P.L.S.N.”  
  
A voice carried on cool air breezed by. “Yeah, see how much money he has in there.”  
  
Grace glanced to her right, coming face to face with a menace. “What? Why?”  
  
“Because if there's a lot you can order a dusk stone, have it delivered at the local center, and make me a happy little ghostie.”  
  
“I'm not going to spend Joe's money on you. Why don't you go bother Percival? He's got connections.” Grace got away from the menu screen.  
  
Marianne rolled around in place, her voice giving a hint of exasperation. “I checked out your neighbors already. That kid's pink sheep had a nasty thunder-punch, and I'm sure it grew nastier a few minutes later when it went bald and turned yellow. I'd rather be annoying around pokemon I'm confident I can beat.”  
  
“Why don't you go annoy your own trainer?”  
  
“Can't.”  
  
“I don't think there's anyone you can't annoy.”  
  
“He left me a long time ago. He promised he would be back but he never came back.”  
  
“So he ditched you? I can't imagine why, with your benevolent disposition and positive attitude.”  
  
“He didn't ditch me, you bitch, he got killed! Because I—.” The hovering jewels of Marianne's necklace began to rattle as she looked downward.  
  
Grace set Joe's T.D. aside. “I'm sorry. I didn't—”  
  
“No! You didn't think that maybe one person out there used to care about me!” Marianne screamed and slammed Grace with a point-blank shadow-ball, sending her rolling across the room against a stacked pile of boxes. “Heartless bitch,” she whispered. Two tears splashed against the ceiling as Marianne retreated to the attic.  
  
James threw the door open to investigate a noise, discovering only Grace struggling to rise and two pillows strewn across the floor. He helped her to her feet and asked, “Grace, what happened in here?”  
  
Joe and Burner appeared behind James while Grace gripped her chest where she was sore from the shadow-ball's strike. “The misdreavus and I hurt each a little, is all.”  
  
Joe reached out to her and led her away. “Come on, I've got a spray in my bag.”  
  
James exited too, but Burner lingered. His eyes' proximity to the ceiling helped him notice its two tiny wet spots. “Ghost?” he asked quietly.  
  
A moment later, Marianne barely peeked down through the ceiling. The yellow parts of her eyes were redder than usual.  
  
“I don't think you're going about this the right way.”  
  
Marianne did not obviously respond, hovering still.  
  
Burner ran a finger through the two teardrops on the ceiling. “Do you want to talk to someone about this? I will listen to you, if it will help solve this problem we all have.”  
  
“I do. But, I don't think it would.” Marianne ascended and vanished from sight.  
  
In his bedroom, Joe finished spraying Grace with a small blue can of topical medication. “There, how's that?”  
  
Grace stretched and yawned dramatically. “Much better, but I'm still a little woozy. I think I should rest.” With abundant energy, Grace leapt to the head of Joe's bed, slipped beneath the covers, used her telekinetic powers to shut the door and flick off the light, and patted the empty space beside her.  
  
Burner witnessed this from outside Joe's room and realized that their gaming was over for the night. He altered his destination and targeted the love-seat instead after getting something to drink.  
  
James offered him some popcorn, which the blaziken accepted. After surfing a few channels, James muted the audio. “I know Grace is at a type disadvantage, but isn't there anything you can do about that pest?”  
  
“I can hurt her. Do you want a flaming Ghost flying through the walls of your home?”  
  
“No, my insurance probably wouldn't cover it.”  
  


* * *

  


* * *

  
  


* * *

  
The next morning proved quite cold but without new snow falling, leaving only a few inches in places on the ground from the day before. Burner escorted Joe to school, providing a welcome source of mobile warmth at intersections, although it did come with a complaint that Joe was wearing an old jacket instead of a new one. The blaziken was not without ulterior motives, however. While there was a bit of pride involved—Burner noticed every head that his presence turned as he saw Joe off—he also hoped to be at Rennin Park in time to be met by his weekday sparring partner, rather than late enough to meet her. It was his new form's first-impression after all.  
  
He set a paper sack containing snacks and a few training supplies on the concrete bench near the improvised circle, and looked around. He then checked a nearby tree, which stood unoccupied except for a fluffed-up spearow that seemed ready to fight for his naked branch. Burner returned to the bench and sat upon it beside his sack, and took a pose not unlike that of The Thinker. Appropriate, as he thought about many non-specific things until a feminine voice sounded beside him and its owner gripped his shoulders, squeezing them with a slightly rolling motion.  
  
“Wow, is all of this for me?” she asked.  
  
He turned to watch Alice as she hopped down from the table's surface to stand near him and retorted, “Are you ready to handle all of this?”  
  
Alice's expression became less playful for a beat, “Not really,” before returning as it was, “but you'll go easy on me until I am.”  
  
Burner rose from the bench and took a half-step while turning his towering form toward her. “Not too easy, of course.”  
  
A flurry of frost from frozen grass blades kicked up as Alice employed a quick-attack to get beside Burner and slam the back of her fist into the depression behind his right knee, causing his stance to partially collapse. “Of course. I wouldn't like you any other way. Meet me in the circle when you find your balance.” Alice skipped to where she estimated the center of the ring hidden beneath a blanket of snow lay and beckoned Burner with a flippant gesture.  
  


* * *

  
Hunter Hague awoke emitting an anguished yell as a terrible weight seemed to be crushing his chest. So painful it was that he struggled not only to breathe in again, but to open his eyes and see what stood upon him. When he managed, he saw a great bird looming over him, pinning him down with its right foot and staring fiercely. Hunter quickly analyzed his situation. If this ho-oh intended to kill him, he would be dead; it wanted something else. He glanced to his sides. His left arm was caught by a talon, and would feature a terrible gash instead of a puncture if he moved it. His right arm was free, and within reach lay scattered what remained of his equipment, including a knife, a large-caliber pistol, an emptied flask, and a master ball provided by his employer.  
  
The bird grumbled, forcing two small plumes of fire through its nostrils. Hunter realized that he was expected to choose a weapon. He slowly ran his hand over all of the items, watching the phoenix for a tell, but its gaze proved unwavering. With a nervous gulp, he scooped up the master ball and pressed its trigger as he shoved it against the bird's plumage.  
  
His eyes bulged as the ball buzzed and ejected its button cap.  
  
The bird cawed a sound that sounded like laughter; little wisps of flame bursting from its beak at a dangerously close proximity to Hague's face. It then tucked its beak into dense feathers near its left wing and extracted a folded fragment of paper, dropping it beside Hunter's hand.  
  
Hague released his dud ball from his grasp and slid open the note: “Enough. Go home!” in a gentle form of cursive. He grunted. “I work for Mr. Well, I don't get the luxur—ahhh!”  
  
The ho-oh's grip tightened, squeezing the air from his chest again and truncating his excuse. The ho-oh spread its wings and took flight with Hunter as an economy-class passenger.  
  
As flakes of snow fell, those in a particular arc across the sky glittered with rainbow colors above Sabrina, who stepped out from the bushes and collected Hague's pistol, knife, and ruined master ball. The ball was her prize, a memento of another sucker who went through a lot of trouble to wind up empty-handed. She tossed the gear carelessly into the passenger seat of her jeep and drove to a place near her ho-oh's lair to bundle up and wait to be warmed again.  
  


* * *

  
The skies over Rennin cleared somewhat, and by noon the sun shined brightly. Rennin Park's vast expanse of terrain reflected a blinding white, except for a wide circle of bare grass and tilled soil, its covering melted away by a fiery warrior. At its center lay a small jackal, recovering from exhaustion with a paw putting pressure on her snout.  
  
The warrior sat beside her, opening a paper sack. “I'm sorry I hit you too hard. I got worked up and usually you deflect those sorts of punches.”  
  
“I thought I did deflect it. Anyway, it's just a bloody nose. You're the one who immediately let your guard down and got laid out by my reversal.”  
  
Burner dropped a few berries on her chest.  
  
She popped one into her mouth and ate it like she were starving.  
  
Burner picked out a few for himself and laid down, too. He raised his arms and folded them beneath his head, closed his eyes, and relaxed, falling half-asleep until Alice shook him gently.  
  
“Hey. Not to sound greedy, but can I have some more?” she asked.  
  
“Help yourself to anything you like, but I think there's just a couple sprays and a little Halloween candy in there.”  
  
Alice sifted through the bag and found a small paper box with a wire handle, crushed almost flat by neglect, and read its label to herself. She knew where the box came from; her gift was a tiny calendar with a series of dates circled on them. The last circled day was this day, with little marks around it like a symbolic sun. She looked at her sparring partner, and figured that he was almost asleep. Kneeling and leaning against his firm torso, right elbow propping herself up, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath, she picked up the small box with her left paw and shook it to listen to its contents rattle. “We're best friends, aren't we?”  
  
Burner groaned a little and mumbled, “Yeah.”  
  
“Do you think we'll always be?”  
  
“Sure. Why not?”  
  
She lifted her weight from his chest and slipped a clawed digit beneath the box's flap. “Not counting your trainer or his pokemon—'cause they're like family—if you could only have one outside friend in the whole world, would you feel any regret if that friend was me?”  
  
“No. I might feel bad if it wasn't you.” Burner raised himself up a little, opening his eyes to look into hers. “Would you regret it if you only had one friend and it was me?” Her gaze drifted to the side, to the box, but Burner did not notice their new target and settled down again with a faint groan.  
  
Alice slid open the box's flap and found a cracked rare candy inside. It shined iridescently in the sunlight. She moved closer to whisper to him. “I wouldn't regret it for a second.”  
  
Burner opened his eyes again and saw a grin grow across her muzzle. Then, she popped the candy into her mouth.  
  
He sat upright. “Alice, was that a—”  
  
Alice tried to affirm vocally but choked a little and nodded instead. Seconds later, she felt a sensation that began as a tickle but became a blaze as it spread throughout her body. On shaky limbs she crawled against him and found her voice with a gulp. “Hug me, Burner.”  
  
He sat upright and held out his arms; she leapt into him and turned, pressing her back against his chest as he wrapped her tightly.  
  
Alice spasmed with a jerk. “Promise me you'll hug me until I'm through this, and that you'll never finish hugging me.”  
  
Burner used his beak to catch the loose ends of Alice's ribbons and pulled their knots free as her sensory organs bulged. “I promise.” Like a living straight-jacket, he held her restrained as she thrashed through her transformation. Her yells and cries drew the attention of occasional pedestrians passing by Rennin Park, but they were driven off before forming an audience by Burner's cold glare.  
  


* * *

  
“Of course I'll be there, your Honor. Even I can't win them all, right?” So engrossed in his conversation with Justice Barlow, Mr. Well did not notice as Ivana squawked and quite literally flew across Simon's office, away from its great doors. He did notice when the doors' glass shattered from the impact of Hunter Hague being thrown through them by a legendary phoenix.  
  
Justice Barlow inquired about the commotion he heard over the line.  
  
Mister Well replied first with a hearty laugh. “Oh, another of my batters has struck out. Yes, back to the minors with all of them! Well, the ones still living.”  
  
Hague crawled to Mr. Well's desk and reached for its top surface to aide him in pulling himself up. Ivana pecked his hand and inspected the bloody print it left behind with disdain.  
  
“We'll talk again.” Mr. Well hung up his telephone and rolled in his chair beside Hunter as he struggled to stand without being pecked for further staining the furniture. Glancing through the window opposite his shattered doors, Simon gazed at the spectral shine of a setting sun's light reflecting off of an elusive quarry's feathers. “Our arrangement was for you to bring me a ho-oh, not vice-versa.”  
  
Finally on his feet, Hague was not in the mood for wordplay. “You said there were no trained ho-oh in Ocimene.”  
  
“There aren't.”  
  
“The ball you gave me scanned that bird and popped its cap, so either your information is out of date or you're full of shit.”  
  
“Neither is particularly likely, Hunter, but I expected a professional of your caliber to have been able to overcome trivial set-backs nonetheless. Ivana, he hasn't been thrown around enough today. Drop him off at the hospital helipad before he bleeds on anything of value.”  
  
Ivana blasted Hunter in the face with frost. She leapt on him as he fell to the floor again, gripped his back with her talons, and carried him away to be tended to by persons who care about the unsuccessful.  
  


* * *

  
James wiped a bit of sauce from his lips. “Tell me if I have this right. The annoying shrieking hell-beast that's been tormenting us for months won't leave, but the sweet polite puppy who makes the best ravioli I've ever eaten can't stay?”  
  
Alice beamed and cleared the table's empty places. “Thank you for the compliment, Sir, but I do have my own place. If that's an open invitation, though, I'll accept it.”  
  
“Well, at least stay around a couple more hours. It's family movie night.” Alice prepared a comment in response but forgot it as, continuing, James looked toward the ceiling and shouted, “No ghosts allowed!”  
  
Alice became a little concerned and beckoned James aside as the others left the dining table. “Sir, I would like to ask a question that's really none of my business.”  
  
“Sure, shoot.”  
  
“Your household seems to treat pokemon with human respect, but you exclude your misdreavus in such an,” her ears drooped a bit, “almost hateful way.”  
  
“That ghost made it clear that it doesn't want friends, so we're not going to act like we are,” James began walking away, “or put on a show when company calls.”  
  
In the living room, Joe re-arranged the furniture somewhat while Burner brought a couple extra chairs out from storage. Grace examined the film's case. In a house full of boys, a genre she enjoyed came around about as often as the new moon. Tonight it happened to be, but no luck this time. She cast the case aside carelessly and floated to the kitchen's window. The sun had set and the sky was clear and bright.  
  
Alice saw her look at the case, and asked, “What are we watching?” while she finished cleaning their dishes.   
  
“Some old import comedy.”  
  
“Oh? I love those. Daddy got me a little video player and when we traveled through a town, we would pawn old movie discs and chips for a few different ones.”  
  
“Daddy?”  
  
“My trainer. He's—” Alice closed her eyes and tested her enhanced aura perception to ensure no one was near enough to eavesdrop. “I guess there's no sense in hiding it from a Psychic. Politeness is the only reason you haven't seen already, so go ahead and look.”  
  
Alice knelt as Grace approached and placed her palms on Alice's temples. At first, Grace saw what Alice wanted her to see. When she dug deeper, Alice snatched her palms away.  
  
“No! Please, don't. Even in Daddy's care, there were some bad times that I don't want to remember, or share. And before that—” Alice glanced aside with her ears folding down.  
  
Burner entered the kitchen. “The movie starts in a few minutes. I'm making popcorn; do you girls want some?”  
  
Alice stood up straight with a smile. “Popcorn isn't one of the three foods no lucario can resist, but I'll make room. Grace?”  
  
Grace shook her head. “No, I'm not going to watch that show.”  
  
“Okay. Well, if I don't see you before I go, it was nice visiting you tonight.” Alice glanced at Burner, who was rummaging through the kitchen while his corn popped.  
  
Burner hollered to the living room. “Where's the popcorn salt?”  
  
Joe called back, “With the rest of the shakers!”  
  
“I looked there, and in the cabinet.”  
  
Joe entered the kitchen, “I know it's right there,” and started looking where Burner looked moments before. “Did you move it?”  
  
Alice knelt again and whispered. “You and I need to get together again soon. I think both of our guys suffer a serious case of oblivious.” The girls stared at them—between them, actually—at a shaker of popcorn salt standing on the counter.  
  
Grace giggled. “Do you think we can cure them?”  
  
Alice rose, parted the myopic morons, and brought the salt to their attention by holding it up and shaking it.  
  
Burner took it from her with an embarrassed caw. “Uh. Thank you.”  
  
Alice strutted away, stifling a laugh, as Joe gently slapped Burner with the back of his hand and said something about making them both look silly, starting a whispered argument.  
  
Grace levitated to match Alice's level and Alice took Grace by her hands, shaking them once with a small jolt. She stared into Grace's eyes with a look of absolute seriousness. “Working together, we have to cure them, because they'll drive us crazy if we don't.” Alice turned back to face them and stepped slightly aside to ensure Grace too had a clear view. “And, we wouldn't give them up for anything.”  
  


* * *

  
Everyone watching was fully engrossed by the film within minutes. Its surreal nature was sharply enhanced by being both an import and being from an era where something with the features of a trainer's device would be a futuristic tool of tomorrow. Grace found no difficulty in borrowing Joe's jacket—which she wore more like a poncho than a jacket due to her size—and slipping out into the backyard. With a levitation-assisted leap, she bounded to the rooftop, cast away some of the snow to provide a place to lie, and settled down to stare upward. The moonless sky and Rennin's lack of a night life meant that the stars above were free to put on the best show in town, even if it was suffering lower attendance than the ribald affair presented inside on James' television screen.  
  
The air was still enough that Grace's exposed feet did not mind the cold, until a sudden chill brushed through them.  
  
“You know, it kinda makes me wonder if she does that to annoy me,” spoke an equally-chilly voice.  
  
Grace looked down and across her body to see Marianne's two-tone eyes glowing bright in the night.  
  
The ghost continued. “I was at rest when she broke into my master's house and started squatting the place up. I let her have that shit-hole, moved over here, and voila, she pops up again just when I'm feeling at home.” Marianne spat off of the rooftop, a mysteriously purple-colored fluid crystallizing in the cold winter air. “What a pest.”  
  
“Pest? Even James seems to like her.”  
  
“Because she's a suck-up kiss-ass who made him dinner.”  
  
Grace leaned back and looked upward again. “I thought about that, but I got a few reads on her. She wants to be a friend to us; and to Burner, something more.”  
  
“ ‘Us,’ huh.”  
  
“Yes. You included. I think she thinks you're part of this family, too.”  
  
“She's an idiot on two counts, then. Why would she want to be part of this family when it can't even be bothered to buy a little pebble and help a lost soul with her evolu—so that's it! She and your combat chicken got all lovey-dovey, made her happy enough to evolve, and now she's rubbing it in my face by coming around and saying, ‘Look at me, I'm cute and nice and I can cook 'cause I have bones and flesh!’ Well, that's not very nice, now is it?”  
  
Grace sighed heavily, exhaling a small puff of fog. “Believe what you want to believe, Misdreavus.”  
  
“Marianne.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Me. I never told you guys my name because I didn't want to hear it again. Only my master needed to use it, and for some reason I can't remember his voice, except for how he said my name. I was kinda afraid that if I heard someone else say it, or say it wrong, I might lose that, too.” Marianne floated upward somewhat, looking at the brightest star above.  
  
Grace looked at it also, through the violet haze of Marianne's tenuous form. “Why don't you tell me about him? Maybe it will help you remember things.”  
  
Marianne chose to proceed, but only after much consideration. “I found him when he was young. He was plagued by nightmares; not of anything in particular, though. It was like his sleeping mind liked scaring the shit out of his waking one. At first he was just a bonanza food source to me, but after a while I started feeling bad for him. His parents put him on pills but they didn't work. His grades were always bad and in high school, he got the idea in his head of hanging himself the next time his parents were out of the house. As he suffocated and his mind slipped into subconsciousness, I sensed what he was doing, so I grabbed him and pulled him through his noose. When he came-to again he freaked out, blaming me for all of his nightmares. There was no speech T.M. back then, but pointing to the last day on his calendar and shaking the noose at him was enough to communicate that I wanted him to live a little longer. Night after night, he was my guinea pig. It wasn't until the 27th that I found a way to use the dream-eater technique to absorb his nightmare itself, rather than his energy through it.” Marianne turned her gaze from the sky to the kirlia. “And, that was that. Years later, he got his master's degree.”  
  
Grace leaned up and asked, “So it was a symbiotic thing between you?”  
  
The ghost looked skyward again. “At first, but it changed at some point. We had an argument—a stupid one, but a big one—and I stormed off. I figured the nasty nightmares would come right back and he would apologize out of necessity if not humility. They didn't, though. I had fixed him. He was all better. Through the coming months, he got on with life. Dated a few chicks, had some of the guys from work come over to play cards, typical bachelor stuff. I'd snipe a dream off of him or one of the broads for my own health, but otherwise I was a ghost of a ghost. One night he came home and made a big dinner for two. I figured it's another date and readied myself to siphon a little love energy. Not as good as a night-terror, but it's still primitive brain-waves. He sits at the table and he waits, and waits; all evening long, staring at the other side, food getting cold, candles burning down to their holders. Finally he shoved his plate away, folded his arms on the table, and started crying. It wasn't until he said, ‘I miss you,’ that I realized what the damned date was: February 27th.”  
  
“What did you do, then?” asked Grace.  
  
“I comforted him. At least, as much as a bone-chilling cloud can. We made-up and vowed to never be idiots like that again. Later on, he captured me, gave me a name that he thought had a beautiful sound to it, and we lived happily ever after.”  
  
Grace scooped up some snow and packed it into a ball to play with. “That's a nice ending for your story.”  
  
Marianne spat over the edge of the rooftop again. “It's a fucking lie, that last part; I got him killed. I wanted to evolve and he didn't want me to. Always said he liked seeing me the way I was when he woke up from his first peaceful night's sleep. But while I never changed, he did. He grew up, he grew older. I insisted that he get me a dusk stone and I nagged him until he finally ordered one through the Pokemon League Supply Network. We got a call that it was delivered at the center. He said he'd get it tomorrow, but I couldn't wait. I yelled, I screamed, I pulled what was left of his hair. Finally that night he caved and went to pick it up.”  
  
Marianne sank downward to the snowy surface of the roof.  
  
“Two blocks from the center, he got hit by a drunk. He didn't die then, though. He suffered in the hospital for a few days before his body finally gave up. They didn't want me haunting his room but they couldn't drive me off without a fight, so I stayed there the whole time. All I could do was apologize, and all he could do was lie there. I must have said I was sorry a hundred-thousand times. Finally, he gasped and whispered one last thing: ‘Marianne, go home and wait for me. I'll come back as a ghost and we'll be together again. I promise.’ That's why I need a dusk stone. Until I evolve, he died for nothing. After I evolve, he still died for nothing, but at least a stupid rotten bitch will have what she got him killed for.”  
  
There really was not much for Grace to add, but she hoped to at least establish some common ground. “Joe doesn't want me to evolve either.”  
  
Marianne slowly rotated to face Grace with a scowl while emitting an ætherial growl. When she stopped, she spoke with a downbeat tempo. “Harvey wanted me to stay as I am because it reminded him of the day I saved him from himself and the day I gave him a new chance at living a normal life. You want to evolve so you will have your best body warming-up his bed before his puberty kicks in fully and he starts getting embarrassing stiffies for the girls at high school. You selfish whore.”  
  
Grace bolted upright. “Ghosts may be strong against Psychics, but I can still glean your emotions. I felt your jealousy when you spoke about the other—human—women Harvey slept with, and I've got a gut feeling you wanted to evolve so you could be more than just a foggy head in his bed before he got too old to do anything with you.”  
  
A terrible shriek echoed across the rooftops of Rennin's south-eastern residential district as Marianne flew around Grace's head and clamped onto her hair with her mouth and tendrils. She yanked the kirlia off of the roof, and using a ghost's ability to pass through matter, pulled her down into the icy waters of the swimming pool through its protective covering.  
  
Inside the Rainier home, a group of cinema fans asked each other what that strange sound was, and lacking a satisfactory conclusion, watched their film's third act in peace.  
  
Beneath the pool's cover, Marianne assaulted Grace, using her primal fear of drowning to track her in the wet darkness. Sensing the ghost directly was difficult for Grace, but as Marianne was using her fright-absorption powers, her necklace glowed, giving Grace enough of a target to strike with a confuse-ray and get a few clear seconds to teleport through the cover's membrane.  
  
Marianne tried to repeat her stunt a couple times, but Grace was prepared and did not let the Ghost pull her down again. Their battle became more traditional, exchanging attacks as they floated inches above a snowy and wet tarpaulin that served as their combat circle. In the near total darkness, their fight was practically invisible, and aside from grunts and groans, mostly silent until Marianne finally gave up, sort-of.  
  
The ghost was half buried in the snow just beyond the pool's edge. Grace approached slowly, far too exhausted to levitate.  
  
Marianne's facial features coalesced with a grim smile illuminated by her necklace while Grace was still many meters away. “Are you deaf?”  
  
Grace wiped some blood from the corner of her mouth. “No.”  
  
Marianne drifted upwards from the snow. “Good.”  
  
Grace sensed serious danger on Marianne's mind as she began to rise from the snow and sing a perish-song. Instinctively and instantly, Grace re-located behind Marianne and slugged her in the back of her head, sending her flying into the east fence, scattering her necklace's beads. Realizing that her battle was over, the adrenaline rush left Grace in a mixed-up state, feeling like she was freezing from the pool water that coated her body, and feeling like she was burning from the inside-out. She knelt and curled up, too exhausted and out of breath to even cry for help. She shivered, rolled onto her side, and gripped her sensory horns in pain.  
  


* * *

  
“What is it?” Burner was becoming rather distracted by Alice as she kept looking to her right every few minutes.  
  
“I don't know. My aura sense is better now, but I haven't learned to actually read it, yet. I know something strange is happening to the east, though.”  
  
James took a swig of soda. “Maybe it's more poachers. They like our backyard.”  
  
Joe asked, “Who could it be? I mean, everyone here's here except Grace. She usually naps in my room if she isn't into the movie.”  
  
Alice's eyes grew wide as her sensors lifted and she twisted in her seat to face both Joe's room and the backyard. “No, she's not in your room. It is Grace out there and—” Alice sprang up and dashed to the back door with the rest of the Rainier family behind her. Light from the kitchen window and opened door revealed nothing, and everywhere else was black as pitch. “To the left,” Alice advised.  
  
Burner stepped into the darkness. “Stand clear of me.” The feathers of Burner's left foot suddenly burst into flame as he swung a blaze-kick through the night.  
  
A flash of orange glow reflected upon a humanoid form on its knees near the pool cover's edge. Joe immediately recognized its profile from months before, but this one was slightly different.  
  
Its eyes shined a shade of green instead of red, and it wore his jacket.  
  


* * *

 


	7. Projections

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 7: Projections.

* * *

  
Joe was reminded of the skin of a fried chicken breast as he peeled his jacket, stiffened by frozen swimming pool water, away from Grace's new body. It stayed in one piece, but flexed with crunching sounds that competed against a hissing faucet. Grace leaned against him numbly as he guided her into the bathtub to be gradually enveloped in water that would gently raise her body temperature instead of sharply lower it. Her first un-assisted action since Joe found her was to roll the knob handle in its red arrow's direction with her foot and kick it to full-blast. Joe immediately vetoed her plan and reduced the flow to a trickle.

“No; Dad said warm water, not hot.” Joe sat on the floor beside the tub Indian-style.

James entered the bathroom holding a mug of hot cocoa. “Unless you want to die from shock. If so, go right ahead.”

Grace, managing a whisper, uttered, “I'll pass on that,” before thanking James, despite his sentiment, as Joe passed the beverage along to her.

“Don't thank me for it. I don't know where this came from. I thought Alice whipped it up before she left a minute ago, but I'm sure we don't have any cocoa in this house.”

Joe recognized the mug by its style as one belonging to the Finnegans.

James stopped as he exited the bathroom. “Not that my permission means much to you anymore, but she should share your bed tonight. Body heat is a sound treatment for her condition.” He shut the door behind himself.

“Grace, can—ow!” Joe recoiled and shot Grace a scowl.

Grace was drinking from the mug, and gulped down her latest sip with a twitch. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to feel your mind. I didn't think about how my powers changed with my body. I won't do it again until I'm sure it won't hurt you.”

Joe pretended that his ears were not ringing. “It's okay, but go easy on me. Now, can you tell me what happened?”

Grace drew a crooked expression. “The misdreav—uh, Marianne and I were talking and the discussion got a little personal, again. That lead to the fight, again.” If it were not for her hypothermia, she would have blushed.

Joe placed a hand on her shoulder. “I could've lost you tonight. Please, tell me exactly what happened.” He took from her the mug as she adjusted her position slightly to reach out to his temples.

“I'd really rather show you.”

Still experiencing the after-effects of her previous attempt to connect to his mind, Joe's reluctance was obvious, but she did not take it as a slight against herself that he hesitated before leaning forward to accept her embrace. Their connection took a little longer to establish than usual, as she throttled her powers at first to ensure that she did not overwhelm him again. Once she found the right level, their link seemed more vivid and natural than it ever did before.

* * *

  
Alice twisted her head and shoulders around to look behind herself. “You really didn't have to walk me home.” She sensed no strong disruptions of local aura, but she also did not fully trust her new sixth sense, yet.

Burner sounded worried. “That's the third time you've said that, and the fifth time you've looked behind us, Alice.”

“One of Daddy's rules was to never let someone follow you home.”

“Oh. I think I understand.” Burner turned away slightly and then turned about. Alice stopped and grabbed his arm.

“I don't mean you,” she whispered forcefully before continuing down the sidewalk after pulling Burner around and changing her grip to wrap her right arm around his left. “We're almost there, anyway. I know it's a little paranoid, but better safe than sorry.”

Burner recognized the next block as the one that Grace was assaulted on by a loosed misdreavus.

“Well, this one is mine; sort-of,” Alice half admitted, “I know it looks pretty bad, but someday Daddy and I will get it fixed up.”

“It's not very late but all the lights are out. Did he go to sleep without seeing you come home okay?”

Alice exhaled sharply into the cool night air. “Daddy doesn't live here.” Her expression shifted to hopeful joy, although this time the sudden shift was clearly an act. “Yet!” She reached for Burner's other arm and tugged him down to give him a hug and a kiss. “I'll see you at the park. Stay warm tonight.”

“You, too.” Burner watched as Alice made her way into the darkness, passing around the side of the house rather than entering through its front door. As he turned to head home with an expression of curiosity on his face, he collided with a hovering purple cloud.

Marianne froze Burner with a gaze that was equally serious and regretful. Her form was rather disorganized and she spoke with a rasping tone. “I probably should have talked to you when you offered. I thought Grace and I had more in common, but we can't talk without things getting really out of hand.” She began to drift away, toward neither of her known haunts. “Just, make sure she knows I wasn't really trying to kill her or anything. Make sure,” she gestured at him with a tendril, “or I will turn your dreams into my personal buffet again.”

That promise was encouragement enough.

* * *

  
While Joe laid an extra blanket across his bed, Grace put on a pair of his socks and glanced at her reflection in the dark south-wall window. She considered the similarities and differences between her new face, her departed mother's, and that of the gardevoir she met in the gym's lobby. Her fixation broke when Joe flicked off the light, and her reflection with it, leaving the room lit only by his alarm clock.

Joe slipped beneath the covers. Grace waited for him to settle before sliding in beside him, negotiating somewhat to ensure her sensory nodes' inconvenient placement provided no intrusive obstruction.

“Don't be shy. I'm still cold,” she whispered into the darkness.

Joe let his hand wander across her side, beneath her arm, and around until it encircled her.

“You don't feel very cold.”

Grace giggled faintly. “Good. Keep me this way.”

“Alright.” Joe's eyes were already closed and he did not notice where Grace was gazing at that second.

An eavesdropper on the other side of the door was careful to not allow loose ice cubes sloshing against a glass tumbler's wall betray his position to his son, but Grace sensed him plainly as he slowly paced to the back door, took a seat in a patio chair, and lit up a smoke.

* * *

  
Vanessa was lost in her crossword when a thud against Rennin Pokecenter's front door glass brought her to attention. Marianne did not emit enough infra-red radiation to trigger the automatic door's motion sensor and she was too exhausted to think that far ahead. Vanessa set her crossword puzzle aside as the ghost slowly struggled through the glass and approached the reception desk, dropping her ball onto the counter.

“I'd appreciate it a little if you'd help me with that—thing—that fixes-up pokemon after fights.”

“Gladly. Uh, technically your trainer is supposed to recall you first, is he or she coming?”

“He couldn't make it here.”

Vanessa wondered why. “Alright, I'll do the honors.” She flicked on the rejuvenation machine's power switch. “This shouldn't take too long once it warms up.”

“I'm not in a hurry for anything.”

Vanessa picked up the ball and cringed. “Lord! Where has this been? It's greasy and smells like death.”

“My master has been holding it. He's in Eledoisin Field, in the part where they plant people who had no family.”

Vanessa dropped the ball in a panic with an exclamation of shock as she dove for a tissue to wipe the corruption from her fingers.

“Hey! Careful with that ball. I don't want to be up for grabs because of some klutzy twat who's more worried about her manicure than—I'm sorry. I'm just very, very upset right now.”

Vanessa picked up Marianne's ball and wiped it clean. “Yeah, I think I can see that.” She recalled Marianne and placed her ball into a dock, setting the machine for a thorough processing.

* * *

  
Joe thought he opened his eyes to see a world filled with impossible topographical forms, strangely colored in varied tints of bright pastel. An almost patina-like green dominated the ground while a faint yellow flooded most of the sky. Other shades fought their way through with bold, however amorphous, strokes. He stepped slowly backwards as he looked about himself, until bumping into something light and airy. Quickly turning, he then faced Grace who hovered before him. She posed herself as though she were lying flat on an invisible platform with her chin resting on the backs of her overlaid hands, although there was nothing there and her free-floating dress waved gently in the rarefied yellow æther.

“Grace, where are we?”

“Inside us.”

Joe glanced around again. “What do you mean?”

Grace rotated and stood before him, blushing slightly although noticeably, especially at the tips of her gills. “I'm not sure. Because I evolved, I wanted to try to do something my mother could do. It's something like, I have to synchronize with your mind, then try to turn the whole thing into an image and then send it back, like a loop.” She reached around his shoulders and floated near. “But, I can tell you're not seeing what I'm seeing. It's like, just a tiny little bit of it. I guess it would be different with a human and a psychic pokemon from what it was with two psychic pokemon.” She drifted away, letting her arms slide from his shoulders, and pulled her legs up to her chest to sulk in disappointment.

Joe stepped forward and took her hands in his own. “Whatever this is, it's pretty cool for a first try. Is there anything we can do while we're here?”

Grace brightened up. “We're supposed to be able to do anything. With my mother, she could create any place either of us remembered, and combine parts of them, so we could visit all our favorite places at the same time. After we moved, we left them all behind, but whenever I started missing them, she'd take me there again this way.” Grace's emotional state began to waver, and the hue of the artificial earth and sky shifted to match.

Joe noticed and grew concerned, which altered the landscape as well as the palette.

Grace felt the connection loosening and sought to stabilize it, reaching out to Joe's avatar and placing her palms on his temples. “Never mind that. Let's see what we can do that might be fun, and simple enough for me to handle on my first try.”

For some time they played together, with Grace sharing with him through synthesized first-hand experience what it is like to become weightless and to float freely about a world formed not of solids, liquids, and gas, but of thoughts, feelings, and emotion.

* * *

  
Burner entered his home silently, locked the front door behind himself, and went to the kitchen for a drink. A glimmer of a dying cigarette caught his attention and led him outside.

“Master James, the temperature hasn't stopped falling all night. Aren't you cold?” he asked of the smoking man.

“Yeah. Very.”

“Is there anything I can—”

“Yeah. Sit down and hear me out.” Burner pulled up a patio chair and waited for some time as James smoked away, continuing only after loading up a lungful of hazy words, “I guess there's nothing I can do about it.”

“Uh, I suppose, you're probably right… right?”

“Probably. I guess it'll happen the way it wants to. Thanks for listening, Burner.” James gripped Burner's shoulder as he returned inside, leaving the blaziken sitting in mild confusion for a moment before entering as well.

James, who was putting his alcohol back into its cabinet, with a muted whistle stopped Burner, who was walking by as he headed for bed. “One thing, though. Joe's still got a lot of growing up to do and a lot of responsibility headed his way soon. That lucario you brought home seems like a real angel, but don't you dare do anything with her that might land my son with a little riolu to babysit on top of everything else.”

Burner hesitated, as that thought had not crossed his mind before, before nodding and swearing his oath with a “Yes, Sir.” He reached his bedroom door and gripped its knob before pausing and looking back to James. “On top of everything else?”

James locked his liqueur cabinet and switched off the light in the kitchen. “Goodnight.”

* * *

  
“Am-ster—no, not ‘star,’ put an ‘e’ there—dam.”

Vanessa had never heard of such a thing, but it did fit into 27-Across. “You're being a jerk and ruining my fun. And my puzzle. Magazines like these aren't cheap.”

Marianne laughed aloud. “You would never have gotten that one without me. So, should I keep helping you, or should I start nagging you with questions about where you acquired an un-redacted magazine?” The pokecenter attendant turned about in her chair and rolled a short distance away. “Okay, fine. I'll make my own fun by snooping around.” Marianne drifted into the lobby area. “Maybe a trainer dropped something interesting around here, or maybe I'll find something to play with in the offices or the storage lock—” Marianne's eyes grew wide. “Oh—oh, fuck, yes!”

A happy ghost is often correlated with an unhappy mortal unless the ghost is an established friend, inspiring Vanessa to cast her contraband aside and try to figure out where the misdreavus now disappeared to. She looked about the public area, demanding in vain that the ghost reveal herself, and was soon to check the private area when Marianne appeared before her, no longer wearing an expression of absolute delight.

“They lined that safe with silver, didn't they?” she asked in an accusing tone.

“Of course. Otherwise, crooks with ghosts and teleporting psychics could clean us out.”

Marianne's tendrils stood outward as she shouted. “I'm not stealing anything! It's rightfully mine!”

“What is?”

“Dusk stone. Harvey ordered one for me and was going to pick it up when he… . Unless you resell stuff that doesn't get picked up, it might still be in there.”

“Well, unless the lock-up's getting full or another center nearby needs something in a hurry, they usually leave the supplies where they're at.”

Marianne's absolute delight returned. “Then open that bad boy up!”

Vanessa returned to her seat and her crossword. “You didn't order it, so you can't claim it, unless you've got his power of attorney.”

“I don't have that. All I have left is my ball in his name and a lot of mistakes to apologize for. Oh, and the answer to 59-Down.”

Vanessa ignored the ghost until 59-Down became the keystone in cluster of squares that she could not fill. “Are you sure?”

“It's another off-the-map city, even though the clue doesn't tell you that. Starts with a ‘G.’ ”

The pokecenter attendant glanced at the clock. It was always pretty dead at this time of night. She released a snoozing audino to watch the front desk while she lead Marianne back to the supply storage room and accessed the safe, where a small box labeled with Harvey's name and trainer ID number, stuffed with cotton about a dark crystal, lay in wait. The audino spun in a task chair and giggled until the loudest and most terrifying shriek it had ever heard sent it diving beneath the counter. It was especially terrifying because the sound was distinctly happy.

* * *

  
“Saaaa… SAAAA—NNNnnn…”

Joe awoke as Grace, indistinctly trying to say something in a strange language, put a palm on his shoulder and pushed him downward against the mattress as she crawled over him, reaching outward with her other arm until falling off the other side and taking most of the blankets with her.

“Grace! Are you alright?”

His gardevoir rose slightly and rubbed her face hard with her right hand. “Unnngh. Yeah. That dream was weird.” She gathered up herself and the sheets and got back into his bed. “I was at a train station, only I wasn't me. I was feeling awful because someone had gone away forever, and the place was packed with people that I was trying to squeeze through. And, they all stared at me like they were angry and their minds felt… mean.” She began to settle back in as Joe's alarm clock triggered.

Morning preparations in the Rainier household went along their usual path, with the only excitement being James' cutting himself while shaving. Before he departed for work, James took Joe aside. “For a wild pokemon, your gardevoir seems to have tamed herself well enough. If you think she's ready, I guess it'll probably be okay if you let her stay out while you're at school.”

Watching Joe depart with Burner beside him, Grace felt a little beside herself. She saw the evidence that she had earned a new level of respect in James' eyes, but she had no idea what exactly she should do with the freedoms and responsibilities that were coming with it. Remembering that she had torn apart Joe's bedding, Grace began her day by tending to its restoration. Of course, it would be uncouth to only do Joe's, so while his began washing, she stripped James' bed and drew out Burner's make-shift futon as well. Stepping on a wild popcorn in the living room, soon she was using her powers to tilt up furniture so she could run a vacuum beneath them.

The proverbial snowball was rolling down-hill.

* * *

  
Percival's sister was filling a coloring book beside what was technically her starter pokemon in the Finnegan living room when a gentle knocking brought Delilah to the door.

“Yes… Grace? Oh, look at you, child! Well, come inside, it's freezing out there if you ain't noticed.”

Twitching her gills to force some blood flow to their chilled tips, Grace followed behind Delilah into the kitchen. “I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything. I fell into a little housework and thought it'd be fun to do the whole place and surprise Joe and James when they come home, but I couldn't find a duster anywhere. If you have one, may I borrow it?”

“Sure you can. Let me guess, decorations' got enough dust on 'em they look like they're growing moss and you can peel it off like a sheet?”

Grace stifled a laugh. “In a few places.”

Delilah fished a feather duster from a closet. “Men don't dust. That's a law of nature.”

Grace drifted back a bit to admit passage of an ampharos wearing a Hawaiian shirt. “Really?”

“Yep. I got a theory on that, come over for tea sometime and I'll bend your ear with it. Those are ears, right?”

Grace gently pinched the base of one of her gills. “These? I think they're like, ear, nose, and some other stuff all together.”

“Think? Maybe you ought'a look into it and know for sure. They are glued to your head, you know.”

Frankie passed by again, this time carrying a summer sausage.

Delilah placed her left hand on her hip while gesturing at Frankie with her right thumb. “That lamb sure knows how to eat, don't he? They're going to have it out when Percy takes him on the routes this summer and can't afford to spoil him anymore. Now, I guess you better get back to work. Time's a wastin', and it's not like two boys are going to clean up after themselves, right?”

Grace nodded and noticed something distinct on the kitchen table, a mug of coffee with a familiar pattern. “Mrs. Finnegan, I'm not sure how, but I think one of your mugs is over at our house.”

“Really? Pa's went missing last night, led to about a half-hour of searching and accusations. Better entertainment than what was on the T.V.; but how did it get down the block?”

“I guess—no—I, I have no idea.”

“Nnnnnnn-huh. I'll expect it back with the duster.”

“Certainly, and thank you.”

Delilah intended to accompany Grace to the door, but the gardevoir closed her eyes and vanished with a flash.

* * *

  
Carlos dozed off while seated upon a park bench in Carthamus Township. Flat broke, he was surviving via his pokemon. Ruby and Rosa kept him warm at night, foremost, and despite a lost leg and a deafened ear, Ruby was still a competent fighter and could win a duel and earn them enough for a meal or two on most days. Rosa was learning fast and proving to be tough as nails like her mother. However, she still had some time to wait before evolving, since Carlos could not afford any gym events with registration fees to help her develop, and he no longer had rare candy privileges.

He awoke to a sharp yelp from little Rosa. She was on his lap, pawing at a paper crane. He plucked it away before Rosa got a chance to chew it up, and unfolded it. Ruby beside him awoke and rested her head on his forearm as he read a short message written on the paper.

“Mr. S. Well has created a ‘failure match-making service,’ as he calls it with tongue-in-cheek. You have been paired with Hunter. You are going to travel northward to Fenchone Plantation, receive equipment stored in locker 6-A, and then continue through Allylidene Forest, up the mountain, until you arrive at Sabrina's Cantina. Hunter will meet you there, thence you together will receive further instructions. — Maximilian.”

Carlos crumpled the paper into a loose ball. “Up the fucking mountain in the middle of winter. Torch this.” Carlos balanced the note on Ruby's nose. Once he drew his hand away and placed it on her shoulder, she snorted it into the air and incinerated it with a burst of flame.

A bald man riding a chopper with a lopunny clinging to his torso sped over the park's brick walkways as though it were his personal road, driving pedestrians off of their share of the path. The lopunny drank the last of a beer she held, crushed the can against her forehead, and threw it away, beaning an old man walking with his glaceon.

“You know what, girls? I should've signed up for a biker gang.” Carlos rose and approached the old man, hoping he was still an active registered trainer. He felt a little bad about doing so, but his houndoom and houndour had an elemental advantage over the glaceon, and Carlos needed money to feed them and himself if they were to make their appointment.

* * *

  
Grace fled from the bathroom with a series of bounding glides, touching floor only to pivot as she navigated into the kitchen and hosed off her sinistral gills with the sink sprayer. Momentarily absent-minded, she had touched them with a hand coated in bath-and-tile cleaner as she brushed her hair aside. The contact instantly taught her that her gills were quite sensitive to chemical agents, and that the uncomfortable burning that their fumes had brought on was nothing compared to what direct exposure could do to her. She toweled off her gills, her watering eyes, and some splash from the sprayer while trying to think of a way to protect herself. Cling film seemed like a crude, but effective, option. As she crossed the living room on her way back to her mission, Burner returned home with Alice alongside him.

“Gracie!” Alice shouted as she rushed to the gardevoir. “He said you were okay, but I had to come see for myself to be sure.”

“Yeah, I'm okay. Kinda sore from fighting with that misd—Marianne, though.”

“You evolved because she let you spar with her? It was so nice of her to help you along! Daddy didn't want any other pokemon, so I didn't have any teammates to learn from. Instead he started teaching me human fighting techniques, and letting me fight any pokemon I thought I could beat; even after he learned that my kind doesn't evolve by fighting. Hey, that reminds me, want a massage?”

“What?” The topic shift caught Grace off-guard, as she was following a brief negative dip in Alice's mindset.

“One time we met with a guy who had a medicham—I lost bad and Daddy had been working hard that week so the next day we were both sore and stiff. We saw the guy again at the market. He was on his lunch break and invited us to the massage parlor he worked at for a two-for-one deal, plus he sneaked in an employee discount. It really helped, and his medicham taught me the basics as a bonus while Daddy got treated. I've gotten pretty good over the years.”

“Thanks Alice, but—I've really got to get back to work so I'll be done before Joe gets home.”

Alice watched how Grace moved as she walked toward the bathroom. Burner returned to her side holding a glass of salt water for himself and lemonade for Alice.

“See that gait? Her muscles are stiff as wood planks.” Alice sucked long on her drink's straw. “Come on, let's get you face-down. It's been a while, so I'll make my mistakes on someone big and tough enough to take it until I get the groove back.”

Grace hustled through the remainder of her chores, or at least, the ones that she anticipated. The snowball kept rolling. Expecting to relax and enjoy a snack after the bathroom, she realized the disarray that had befallen the refrigerator. Reaching to the rear, she found a box of sodium bicarbonate that was likely older than she was. Playing with her powers, she created a weak, but sufficient, barrier across the front of the opened refrigerator to keep the cold air inside and re-arranged its contents into a more orderly pattern. Excepting the box of soda, that is, which she gladly pitched into the garbage. It seemed to possess an inorganic aura, as dark and ghastly as the gho—Marianne's.

She equipped the Finnegan's feather duster again and by levitating herself about a meter, she set about cleaning the top of the refrigerator, which was almost the least tidy surface she had tackled all day. Atop it and pushed near the rear was an unfamiliar box. Curiosity was getting the better of her, but as she guiltily raised it toward her palm, she heard a noise at the front door. The box fell down and cast a tiny plume of dust as Grace hastened into the living room to welcome home the young man she sought to impress.

* * *

  
Six feet beneath the ground's surface, Marianne replaced her ball, trusting it again to the putrid remains of her master. She argued with herself about what to do next. Giving up seemed like the best option. All she had to do was rotate the control dial to its locked position and trigger it. She would be inside and stay there until the power cell, efficient and long-lasting as they were, finally gave up the ghost. With the ball locked, it would not spit her out as an emergency measure when the battery level fell critical after a number of years.

Her essence fumbled in the dark. The dial found its intended setting and settled into its notch with a sharp click. The button began giving way, but it provided more resistance than Marianne expected. Perhaps the action was gummed by rot. The resistance was stronger than the force she was willing to exert against it. She released the ball and let it roll across Harvey's rib cage and settle beside him. She wanted to scream, louder than she ever had before, but while it built up inside her, all that could escape was a long, tearful whine as she began to sob and collapsed against, and then through, the corpse she hovered above.

She needed his comforting words, his reminding her of how she had saved his life, his validating her existence. He was gone, because she wanted a dusk stone. A dusk stone that she finally received. Gifted with the fruits of its influence, her first thought was to crawl into a hole and commit suicide by entombing herself within a pokeball. She got him killed just so she could squander his generous gift by killing herself, too. Marianne began imagining how she would react upon meeting someone who fit her own description. It was someone who was not worthy of death by ball discharge. It was someone who deserved to be buried for all eternity. Thus, she decided there is where she would leave that vile, disgusting, pathetic someone.

“Goodbye, Harvey. And, thank you; for everything. Especially for forgiving me.”

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Mrs. Finnegan answered her door and found a cross-looking gardevoir holding a feather duster and a mug that featured a little bit of dried cocoa at its bottom. “Oh, I know that look. C'mon in, girl.” Delilah received her duster and replaced it in the closet whence it came, while Grace almost stomped—despite hardly putting any force to the ground—into the kitchen to rinse out the mug. “Now, I'm no mind reader like you are, but I betcha I know what happened: nothin'!” Delilah took at seat at her breakfast table. “He came home, didn't notice a thing different, and went straight to his usual business, right?”

Grace turned to face Delilah with an expression that betrayed her frustration, looking ready to explode. She was steadied only because she knew that Delilah was not at fault and that actually directing it at Joe would only make him feel upset too without fixing the problem, or at least, the situation that she perceived to be a problem at the moment. She re-directed her anger at the water on the mug, destroying every droplet with a hand-towel.

“Nnnnnnn-huh. Remember when I told you men don't dust? They also don't notice when you bust your ass getting rid of it everywhere.”

Grace set the mug aside and gripped the counter-top's edge. “He did notice the refrigerator. ‘Hey, where's the juice?’ Then, about fifteen seconds later: ‘What was it doing there? Grace, did you screw with the fridge while I was at school?’ Yeah, I screwed with the fridge. I sorted all the jars and cartons, threw out about a pint of milk that was pushed to the back and two weeks past-due, and moved the juice one shelf down to make more space.”

“Awww, Grace learned something important today. If you want your man's attention, you fiddle with his food.”

Grace looked aside with mild disdain. “You could've told me this before I spent all day cleaning.”

“Advice is easy to forget. Experience you'll always remember.”

“Got that right.” Grace looked back to Delilah and seated herself at the same table. “And you are on to something. Last night, Burner brought a friend home, a lucario we met a while back at the park. She insisted that we let her make dinner in appreciation for Burner helping her to evolve. James has always been cold to me, and just respectful toward Burner, but as soon as he smelled that ravioli, James' whole disposition changed. He doesn't want me reading him so I only pick up what leaks out, but he could've asked her to move in and I wouldn't have been too surprised.” Grace glanced at an apple resting in a bowl on the table.

Delilah noticed. “Oh, help yourself, girl. Now, call me suspicious, but that sounds a little suspicious to me.”

“Me too.” Grace finished her bite before continuing. “She volunteered to let me see her mind so I didn't have to press anything, though. I'm sure she's honest about wanting to be our friend and that she's genuinely interested in making a good impression on us, but I don't know why. When I tried to see farther back than what she wanted me to see, she resisted both physically and mentally. It wasn't like she was blocking it from me, but from herself.”

“What's her trainer got to say about her sniffing around your chicken's coop?”

Grace gulped down a chunk of apple and wagged a finger at Mrs. Finnegan. “That's part of it. The only part of her past that she let me see was a little bit from the night that her trainer freed her and a few random moments of them traveling or training or whatever. They seemed happy together; I wondered how they met. I saw a fragment of when he first got her at a pokecenter. When I tried to see what happened before that morning, she begged me to stop. I had gotten as far back as a memory of her running in a total panic. She was scared and crying and the only things she was thinking about was another lucario and a deafening sound. Over and over. Bang! Bang!”

* * *

  
Bang!

The floors of Nybomy Fields' pokecenter were being cleaned and the “wet floor” warning sign was not seen, understood, or heeded by a riolu racing through the front entrance; automatic doors barely opening wide enough in time to permit her passage. It slipped upon a puddle yet un-mopped by the janitor, and slid head-first into the reception counter's base.

The riolu came-to in a daze, half blinded by a flashlight aimed at her eyes. Her inheritance of speech was far from developed. Syntax was a loss, but she picked up key words from the doctor and nurse's conversation. “Blood”—some of Mad Dad's that he flung about the room had splattered onto her fur. “Ball”—her father had one, but she did not. “Female”—she was one, although she wasn't sure exactly what made that significant. “Cage”—satisfied with her condition, they put her in one inside a long, narrow room at the end of a hallway with a bowl of water and some kibble to eat. She felt no appetite, but took the water emphatically.

She slept little that night. It would not take long for her mind to drift back a few hours and she would again be awake with a cry and a whimper. In other cages, a few mute pokemon shouted complaints in their natural vocalizations. For a moment they turned on each other, arguing over which was more annoying: the cry-baby riolu or they, the pokemon who were impotently ordering her silent. By midnight, it became a conversation about her potential fate.

“We will lose only one night's sleep. It will be gone tomorrow night,” speculated an arbok.

“How do you know?” questioned a flareon.

“Because if no one takes it tomorrow, I will escape this cage and swallow it.”

“At least someone will be getting a complete meal,” quipped a munchlax.

Flareon huffed a small wisp of flame. “You said you were going to get out and eat me. A lot of times.”

The arbok hissed. “Fires give me indigestion. You haven't quite made it worthwhile yet. Also, I'm not sure you wouldn't enjoy it. You've admitted your disappointment at my not swallowing you yet a few times now.”

“And if I did, would that really disturb you?”

Arbok shivered. “Yes. Pervert.”

“Pervert? Maybe. But she's the one who needs to be worried about perverts.”

Arbok squirmed up the side of her enclosure to a spot that was weakened enough that she could easily open a gap to sample the circulating air currents outside, and possibly enough to escape if she wanted to make good on her threats. “You're right, it is a female riolu. I wonder, what's wrong with her to get her dumped? A breeder found a weak blood line in her, maybe? Or a physical deformity?”

Flareon chuckled. “Maybe she inherited no moves.”

“What a shame! Then, to be fair, I really should eat both of you together. It would be a mercy killing.”

“I didn't know you had any mercy in you.”

Munchlax chimed in. “Arbok swallowed the chansey that used to work here, so now there's a little bit of mercy in her system and she needs to get it out.”

Flareon rolled onto his back and wiggled against a foam pad that served as his bedding. “I know what Arbok needs. She needs a little bit of my mercy sliding down her throat.”

The fire-type began snickering uncontrollably as he heard Arbok thrash her tail, sending flying a water dispenser, and hissing with all her might against the wall that separated her pen and Flareon's. She spat a glob of venom against it. “You nasty little rodent!”

Munchlax farted and shattered the tension.

The riolu clutched her foam pad—as she had the small comforter on her bed in what was her home—and pressed herself into the corner farthest from the other pokemon. She still did not know why she inspired such a heated discussion, or where that conversation had gone, but she was feeling like she should have kept on running.

Arbok flicked her tongue out of habit and thrashed again, cringing and hissing a whine. “Oh, oh-god, OH! I just tasted it!”

Both males began to laugh; Munchlax commented on the situation. “She calls Flareon a pervert, and then she licks my fart!”

Arbok slammed her body against the opposing partition. “When I get out of here, I'm going to swallow you first. I don't care if I choke to death on your fat ass.”

“Flareon, I think she's in love with me instead of you, now. She wants to swallow me so my delicious farts will be inside her forever, like Chansey's mercy!”

Together, they sang as best they could, “LUCKY!”

The males could not hear her whispering for their laughter, but with the end of her tail draped across her brow, Arbok swore to Arceus that if he delivered her from this hell she would vow to never bite, strangle, or poison hers or any other trainer again before coiling up in a defensive posture.

Chatter from the other pokemon provided enough noise to distract the riolu from her memory but not too much to prevent her from falling asleep from exhaustion.

* * *

  
Stepping inside and away from a newly rising sun, somebody looking bewildered and out-of-place approached the service counter. “Uh, this is the pokey-mon place, right?”

“It's, ‘po-kay-mon.’ This is the center for the Nybomy Fields district. Can I help you?”

“Yeah. I'm kinda new around here, and it looks like I ought to get a pokey—kay—mon.”

“I.D. please.”

The man offered his passport; the attendant called for her manager, who spoke to the man in private for some time but was ultimately unable to dissuade him, concluding by saying to his employee, “Alright, take him back and show him what we have available for placement.”

The attendant introduced the pokemon one occupied cage at a time as they traveled the hallway and explained their situations like she were reading their rap sheets. “This is a munchlax. It eats everything it can and often emits foul odors and sometimes emits things it ate too much of. Then it might eat the same regurgitated matter again. You don't want this pokemon. This is an arbok. She has had four owners so far, and the first one is the only one she hasn't assaulted with potentially lethal techniques. We never handle her without at least two people plus a staff pokemon to be sure she's under control. You don't want this pokemon. This is a flareon. All we know is that it was accidentally evolved into this form and the owner dropped it off here. He doesn't give us any trouble, but every time someone takes him, he comes back a week later with complaints of methodical misbehavior, like setting small, slow-burning fires around the home and humping house guests. So, you probably don't want this pokemon. And that's what we've always got. Anything good gets snapped up fast, leaving these bad eggs behind.”

“What about that cage?” The man noticed a distant cage had a small card in its pocket and approached it with the attendant following behind him, also curious about what was in there.

She plucked the card from its pocket. “Riolu, female, came in on its own last night, no registration, cleared by medical, level 1, tested S.T.M. positive. Huh. You might want this pokemon.”

The riolu awoke to the sound of the attendant's voice, and watched the humans outside closely until she heard the latch click, letting the door open. Unfamiliar hands reached inside and she squirmed a bit to avoid them. They withdrew, and she felt relieved until she saw a hand reaching for the door again. She did not want it to close. A yelp halted the door, and her stepping forward opened it again.

The man took her up with his hands beneath her arms, and hesitated, clearly not knowing if he was holding the riolu correctly, or how he could rectify the situation if he was doing it wrong. The attendant advised that he could set the creature on the floor.

“Blue fur on a puppy dog,” he remarked as he knelt and placed her down, surprised that she did not fall forward on her other paws. “She can stand on her hind legs?”

“Many of the dog-like pokemon, like that flareon, are quadrupeds, but riolu and lucario—the form she can grow into—always walk like people do, unless they really have to go extra fast or need to go low during a battle.”

Together, the man and the riolu played for a bit, he petting her gently and seeing how she was and was not like a dog, and she getting annoyed with being teased and prodded; climbing on top of him, only to be plucked off and held securely in his arms. She liked that feeling.

Seeing an expression of contentment on her face, he asked, “Well, then, are we leaving here together?”

The riolu yelped a distinct affirmation and smiled as the attendant led them away. Passing the foremost cages, the humans thought that the arbok was hissing and snarling at them, but all pokemon in the room understood her: “You're as lucky as it gets, Riolu. Don't screw this up.”

Returned to the lobby, the man received some additional instruction, pamphlets, and—at a reasonable cost—a very basic trainer's device and a ball for his acquisition. He was wary of the technology but captured his riolu per instruction and released her again.

“Alright, Sir,” said the attendant as she finalized the riolu's records, “All that's left is a name, if you want to give her one.”

“Of course; she has to have a name. I think she looks like an Alice to me. What do you think?”

The attendant seemed immediately insulted. “I think you could be more creative than that,” then under her breath, “and more tactful.”

“Pardon?”

The attendant tapped her shirt where her name-tag was supposed to be, had she not forgotten to wear it. “Oh. Alice is my name.”

“Then we better give her my last name, too, so there isn't any confusion.”

Alice submitted Alice's new name for registration. A surname on a pokemon was uncommon, but not unheard-of; often it was done only as a legal matter when naming a pokemon as an inheritor or assigning power of attorney, but there were some owners who considered their pokemon equal members of their family and chose to extend that fellowship through nomenclature.

“Don't screw this up.” Alice remembered Arbok's goodbye as she looked up at the human carrying her out of the center on his arm. Was Mad Dad the way he was because someone screwed it up? Did she do something wrong that made what happened happen? She did not know, and realized that she might never know, but one thing was certain: she would try her hardest to never screw up in the future.

* * *

  
After discussing the nature of boys with Mrs. Finnegan, Grace teleported back to her home, materializing in the living room. She went to the fridge, took a lemonade, re-aligned a few cans that Joe had disrupted, and lay on James' love-seat to relax, adjusting a throw pillow to accommodate her dorsal sensory organ. She could sense Joe in his room working on homework. Burner was in his room and out like a light. She sipped her drink and thought of nothing until she heard and felt James returning home a short time later. He brought with him a couple of large pizzas and laid them out on the kitchen table; not vocalizing any snide remarks that came to mind, once again coming home to see a pokemon lounging on his couch. James knew that instinct was leading him true when he left the kitchen to let Joe know that dinner was ready and spotted faint vacuum cleaner tracks in the carpet.

With Burner emerging from his room having smelled food in the air before Joe and James reached it to alert him, the men-folk approached the dinner table one by one, finding place settings arranged for them by Grace, and together they systematically eliminated slice after slice, taking no prisoners and letting no hunk of topping escape by clinging to a box.

Burner claimed the last slice and salted it generously while Joe stretched and groaned, “Thanks, Dad. That was great.”

“Take some credit for yourself. You suggested we try the new place even though it's on the other side of town.”

“Yeah, but I heard about it from Terrance, so—oh, you got some sauce on your face,” James wiped the red fluid away with his napkin as Joe continued, “So, he's the one who we should thank.”

“Okay, you do that next time you see him.”

Joe rose from his seat while Burner began chipping away at his slice's crust. “Dad, still got a little there.”

James blotted the spot again. It was not sauce. He said nothing more about it as Joe and Burner left to hold a video game rematch.

Grace silently collected plates and utensils, taking them to the sink and giving them a rinse. James disposed of the boxes. When he returned, he stood a few paces behind Grace and watched her work for a moment. She easily sensed conflicted emotions from his mind. He stood until she finished the dishes, turned to face him, and asked, “What?” in a tone that was not fitting a pokemon addressing a human. She realized this after the word came out, and felt relieved when his thoughts became somewhat lighter, against her expectation.

“Nothing. It's just, I was remembering something.”

“I know. Not what it was, but that you were.”

“Yeah, I guess that's something your kind does. Something else you did—you did a good job, cleaning up around here.”

Grace let her head tilt down modestly and blushed slightly. She drew her hand against a narrow lock of hair that fell across her right eye. “Thank you, Master James. I appreciate that you noticed.”

James cracked a slight smile. “I can see that.” He stepped forward. “And I can see that Joe didn't notice. Try not to hold it against him. It took me years to learn to see all the tiny big things a woman does for her guy when she cares about him.” The slight smile vanished. “It took me a while to notice when she doesn't anymore, too.”

James glanced aside and Grace reached toward his face with her left hand. He noticed her motion and snatched her arm by the wrist, and growled through his teeth, “I told you, Psychic, never again.”

Grace was startled by how swiftly his mood shifted. She became scared. Not exactly of him, since she was now strong enough to defend herself from, or subdue through psychic power, any typical human, but rather for him. He had been doing a good job of hiding it, but something terrible was on his mind, something that scared him. She spoke with an obsequious whisper, “Master James, please, trust me. I swear I will always honor your wishes and your son's. I was reaching for your cheek, because—”

James released Grace's arm and stroked his wound. He rubbed a smear of blood between his fingers, scowling at it. “I guess I'll have to find a styptic. You didn't throw anything out of the medicine cabinet today, did you?”

Grace shook her head, denying. James exited quickly. The gardevoir drew a chair outward from the dining table using telekinesis and sat, pondering what just happened. She could not sense anything watching over her.

* * *

  
“Come on, Sabsie. We go back forever! I'm sure you owe me one somewhere, and it'll only be one night. Maybe two.”

“No. Bar's closed, get out. Go freeze in your tent, Hague.”

“I don't have a tent. That stupid phoenix I came for ruined my old one and the guy I'm waiting for was supposed to bring the supplies.”

“That's not my problem. Get out.” Sabrina took Hague by his arm and literally dragged him outside, through the canvas flaps that created a fourth wall when the weather turned sour.

“Alright, you leave me no choice, woman. If you won't let me sleep on the bar, I'm going to track you until you lead me to your cabin. Then you'll have no choice but to let me stay there.”

Sabrina tightened the canvas flap's tie-downs. “You're really fucking glad I know that that idea came out of the whiskey.”

“I'm serious.”

“Listen. I don't live in a cabin, and my partner will not approve of you sleeping over.”

Hague leaned back a little, stopping when his balance shifted without the rest of him. “ ‘Partner?’ What, did you turn lesbo or something? That would explain a lot about what happened after you and I—”

“Hunter! Go—the fuck—away.”

“I'm not staying out here when it's probably going to drop 20 centimeters of snow by morning. You are going to put me up for the night.”

“Last warning.”

Hague intended to seize Sabrina by her shoulder, but instead gripped her throat. “I'm not kidding!”

Sabrina drew a large-caliber pistol and jammed its muzzle just beneath Hunter's rib cage. With some effort due to the constriction, “Neither am I.”

Hague released his grip and stepped backwards slowly. He soon recognized the pistol.

“Yeah, it's a nice piece, isn't it? Never got to thank you for it. Not going to, now, either. Piss off, and if I ever see you again, you'll wish I'd fired this thing.”

Still fortified with alcoholic bravado, Hague asked, “And why's that?”

“Because if I ever see you again, my partner is going to finish you, and he's got a seriously sadistic streak in him when he hates someone.”

Hunter remembered back to when he lost that particular pistol; the handwriting on a note he was given that night. He staggered a bit before lurching away, quickly looking about for any hint of a rainbow's glimmer behind the gently falling snow.

* * *

  
James sat upright in his bed, waiting for his telephone to stop ringing on the other end.

“Admiral? Yeah, it's me. You remember that thing we talked about a little while back? Skipper, Skipper, please. You said all that stuff when I told you the first time. Yes. There's no telling. Might be years, might be tomorrow, but the clock's ticking. That's just buying time; bad, painful time. No, not yet. Probably when there's no way left to bullshit being okay. He doesn't need to know when he can't do anything about it. That's what I'm afraid of; I don't want him doing that to himself or to them more than I would like to stretch things out a little longer. Well, if that happens then that happens. I won't be in much of a position to stop him—look, I just wanted you to know, and to thank you again for agreeing to do this for him and for me. No, it is something. Gardevoir, now. She's pretty much what I expected. Both, but her heart's in the right place. A little later on he got what's now a blaziken. Remember Mitch McKinley? Yeah, now dress him in feathers and make him even taller. Oh, yeah. He's so naive about some things it's almost cute, but he's not dumb or anything like that. You'll like him, he's the kind that would make such a great soldier that you'd want to promote him to commodore so you wouldn't risk losing him. Those two are his, but there are a couple others. One's a lucario that's got a crush on Burner—oh, the blaziken. I agree, but I didn't name him. Anyway, she doesn't talk about her trainer at all so there's something fishy there, but I can't knock her cooking. Yes, she said Burner helped her evolve so she made ravioli for us. I ain't complaining. Finally, there's a ghost. It's a mis—something. Which is the small form? It showed up one day, started attacking us in our sleep, and demanded we get it an evolution rock. It and Grace had a fight last night and Grace kicked its ass, it seems, since that's what got her evolved, and I haven't seen it since. Thing is, the lucario seemed to know it, and thought that it was either Joe's or mine. Joe and Grace said that they first met this ghost when they all went out on Halloween and it harassed them. Yeah, something fishy there, too. Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry, but I wanted to be sure that Joe was actually asleep and not playing his games with the sound off and maybe overhearing us. Goodnight, Skipper. And again, thank you. This means a lot to me.”

James terminated his telephone's connection, placed the handset on its stand, and rolled over in his bed to face a chilling fog that stared at him with red and amber eyes. He recoiled somewhat as the fog did likewise.

The ghost reorganized its form. “Sorry, I wanted to know what that would be like. Never mind. James—I know. Not just from now; I was listening-in when that old creep came by with the articuno. I want to help, if I can.”

James clicked on the lamp on his bed stand. “Nice hat. It looks like you found what you were looking for, Ghost.”

“My name is Marianne, and I think I might have, although I'm sure I haven't earned it yet. Like I said, I want to help you.”

“I really doubt you can. If you could, there would be a misdreavus on every hospital's staff.”

“I did see something on T.V. once about a ghastly that could pull tumors out of people so they wouldn't need surgery, but that's not the type you have.”

“Then how do you expect to help?”

Marianne became somewhat frustrated. “I don't know. But, if you think of something, let me know. I'll be around.”

“You don't know how disappointed I am to hear that.”

Marianne's naturally W-shaped mouth pursed to straightness as she turned away, let the bed sheet filter through her form, and floated into the attic.

* * *

  



	8. Confrontations

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 8: Confrontations.

* * *

  
Joe awoke to a purple sunrise. Most of the vernal equinox sunlight filtered through Marianne as she occluded much of his east-facing window. Grace stirred beside him, and gave him a gentle kiss as they rose.

Marianne stared forward. “I'm going to miss the snow.”

Grace stretched with faint groans as Joe turned off his alarm and stumbled toward the bath. He rubbed his head forcefully. Grace scowled. “You took a bite out of him last night, didn't you?”

Marianne drifted back from the window. “Just a sip. I don't plan to waste away again. Could you stay out of his head any longer?”

Grace's lack of a response was reply enough.

“I didn't think so.” Marianne returned to the window after watching Grace leave—still wearing her scowl—and gazed across the backyard.

In the kitchen, James cooked up a hearty breakfast. Holidays extended this weekend into a half-week, and he wanted it to start off memorably. Grace drifted in and lent her hands. They typically exchanged no words when they prepared a breakfast together, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. They simply had nothing to communicate other than the specifics of their culinary objective. James noticed that Burner was sleeping in again, and instructed Grace to drag him away from his futon once she finished setting their places.

The gardevoir easily sensed that he was experiencing an intense dream. They were coming to him frequently these days, Grace noted as she approached his door, but this one felt different than his usual fare. She could even hear his faint, throaty mumbles; usually that meant his dream saw him engaged in physical combat with a powerful foe. It would probably be a shame to spoil it, but it would too be a shame to spoil James' breakfast by letting it turn cold in his absence. She gently turned his door's knob and leaned through its widening opening.

“Burner, you need to get up for breakf—” Her eyes grew wide at what she saw and she immediately drifted backwards, pulling the door shut before her. She hovered with flushed gills for a moment, monitoring Burner's mind has he suddenly snapped to awareness, realized what had happened to awaken him, and then, what had just happened. Grace floated back to the kitchen with a hand to her mouth, ignoring the sound of Burner's shameful caw fading behind her.

Joe finished dressing and entered the kitchen shortly after Grace returned and took her seat. “Wow, are you planning something, Dad? And, where's the big guy?”

Grace touched Joe on the arm as he sat beside her. “Burner needs a moment. He had a—strange—dream.”

Joe looked concerned. “Should I—”

“No! Uh, nah,” she flashed a disingenuous and sarcastic grin, “he just wanted to reflect on it for a little bit.”

The three began eating and ignored the typical stunt of Marianne drifting across and through the breakfast table, picking up a little bit of everything as she passed by. However, instead of levitating to the attic, she phased through the west wall.

She found Burner seated on the floor, turned to face away from the door that Marianne did not care to use. “Hey, Chicken. I brought you a bit of breakfast.”

Burner glanced her way, and rotated to face away from her, too.

“Alright, what's the deal?” She quickly drifted around to his front and invaded his personal space, draping her form across as she pressured him to lean back somewhat. She let his knees pass through her lower region. She felt her essence wrapping fluidly around something else, too.

“Oh? Oh…” Marianne looked beneath herself. “Oh! Wow, Chicken. That's one hell of a—you were having impure thoughts, weren't you?”

Burner glanced to his left. “Yes. I didn't—”

“I knew I felt something cool going on over here; if it weren't more fun to annoy the psychic I should've fed on your dream. Your beefy, pulsating dream.” She shifted forward again, extending a tendril to his chin and pulling his gaze into her own. “I bet it would be a flavor to savor.”

Burner shifted and chirped with a spasm as he felt something touch his something.

Marianne looked beneath herself again. “Well, that sausage is yours, now. Go ahead, reach in and grab it. Before it gets cold—I don't leave things temperate for long.”

Burner slowly reached into Marianne's fog and fished out the sausage he had touched. She played up the event with a grotesquely melodramatic expression: mouth dropping open and eyes rolling up and back to accompany a soothing exhalation. She floated away from his body and drifted to a position at his right. A fried egg within her floated toward the bulge between her head and body and it faded into oblivion when she headbutted him gently. “Yummy. So, who is that thing thinking about? Grace?”

The blaziken quickly shook his head in denial.

“It's not for me is it?”

He denied again, less emphatically.

“Really? I don't see why not, I am the most attractive female in town, pokemon or hu—ohhhhhh. It's for that black and blue bitch, Alice!”

Burner immediately stood erect and stepped forward one pace to escape her side, arms folded defiantly with nowhere to go.

“There really is no accounting for taste.” Marianne drifted beside him again, elevating a tendril supporting a few more pieces of sausage, easily visible as shadows before the daylight in the window behind it. “Take another.” The tone of her voice became unusually serious. “You wanted me to talk out my problem with you in this room; I declined, and I was wrong.” She drifted toward the door. “Won't you take your own advice?”

In the living room, James' telephone rang. As Joe crossed the room to answer it, he noticed that Burner's door lock clicked faintly.

* * *

  
“Yeah, I do. Dad said it's time to open the pool, so we're going to be spending the whole day on it.”

Percival liked the idea of a nearby open body of water. “Do you guys have the supplies yet?”

“No, we're going shopping in a little bit. There's a pool supply place in Zein that's having a sale.”

“Hey, can I tag along? I was planning on getting a jump on my journey by going to Indan Falls to try to catch a decent water type. That would save me about half of the ride getting there.”

“Probably, I'll ask, hold on.”

Sam offered his master a glass of orange juice with a straw. “Are you planning on hitch-hiking throughout our journey this summer?”

“If we're lucky. Probably going to be surfing the first half of it, though. Between you and Frankie, there's nothing in the water that can slow us down.” Percival's attention returned to his telephone. “Yes? Great! Yeah, we'll be ready by nine. Thanks!” Percival hung up the telephone and returned to Sam. “Okay, our journey begins in a couple hours. I'll ride down to the Pokemart and get some stuff; I guess you need to water your tree one more time or whatever, right?”

Sam nodded as Percival bid his mother adieu and grabbed his bicycle's ball.

Frankie, eating from a bag of pepperoni slices, approached Sam and bleated low.

“I hope so. The prism scale ate most of his road money.”

* * *

  
Joe invited Burner to come along, too, but he declined with a polite though firm, “No, thank you,” and continued straight to the shower. “Hey,” Joe continued, “don't use any of my new shampoo, I still haven't bought anything okay for feathers, yet.”

Burner already turned the corner, but the bass in his voice penetrated the walls well. “Cold water is all I need right now.”

Marianne drifted up against Joe, folding her tendrils over his shoulders. “You'll be in there with him soon enough. Well, maybe not in there with him—that's a lifestyle decision for you two to work out—but at least time-sharing it.”

“What? Why?”

“That's why. I've heard it before; your voice is changing, young man.” Marianne turned to face an always-grumpy-in-Marianne's-presence gardevoir who was leaving the kitchen and approaching on a vector that would separate the boy from the ghost, “Grace evolved just in time, didn't she?”

Grace slipped her right arm around Joe's shoulder to guide him away, while watching the giggling spectre float up into the ceiling. “Enough of her nonsense. Come, finish your breakfast so we can get ready to go.”

* * *

  
As James turned south onto Route R–Z, Grace reached across Joe's seat-back to brush his temple and telepathically whisper to him, “I'm happy to be what I am now, but I did enjoy being able to ride along in your lap.” He recalled the event for a moment before clearing his mind and re-focusing on a little homework he brought with him to pass the ride time productively.

Between Grace's gesture and the incessant chirping of Percival's T.D., James became irritated. “Can't you silence that toy, kid?” The chirps continued. “Hey, mute that crap or I'll pull over and you can start walking from here.”

That got Percival's attention. A few more chirps would be the device's last for the moment as he disabled its sound.

Grace could not help but monitor the T.D.'s screen as Percival flipped through its pages. It was much like Joe's, but Percival actually used its features. Its pokemon combat game included profiles of League trainers and their teams, allowing one to test strategies against the best of the best. Or as Percival had it configured, the typical route travelers and what gym leaders would send against the endless stream of sixth-tiers (admittedly, he would begin as one) that showed up as soon as school let out for the summer. Percival's virtual team included Sam and Frankie, but also some pokemon he must be planning to catch.

While James seemed to want silence, a minute of road din compelled him to turn on his radio.

Grace leaned over a bit. “Burner must have impressed you if you're thinking of getting one of your own.” She felt his mood shift as he slightly melodramatically focused his attention on his device, flipping through manual pages. “What are those numbers?” she then asked.

Percival was trapped between not wanting to say too much, and his inclination to explain things in excessive detail. “Stats. They've tested tons of pokemon, figured out a way to score their abilities, strengths, even rate of development, and turn it all into mathematical equations.”

“Are those thirty-ones good?”

“As good as they get. Just a guess but pokemon coming from where he comes from always have a few.”

“When do we get to meet him? I'd like to see Burner's face facing some competition for attention as the local firebrand.”

Percival cleared his throat and flipped to another page.

“Ohh, that one's pretty.”

“That's the one I'm going for today.”

“I've never seen anything like that. Are they rare?”

“Their first form isn't too rare, but they're difficult to evolve. I've got a short-cut.”

Grace nudged Percival with her elbow. “Short-cut like bumming this ride to get out there, or another kind, too?”

Percival started a new game, thinking about what should fill his team's remaining slots.

* * *

  
Burner heard Roscoe's yield echo in his mind, followed by a criticism. “You manage, but you are distracted.”

Burner released his holds: one arm pinning Roscoe to the ground by his neck, one foot's claws securely gripping the alakazam's belly. “Are you reading my mind?” Burner reached down and lent Roscoe a hand in rising.

Roscoe's mental voice echoed again. “You didn't notice that I was decorating you instead of defending myself.” He raised his hands, causing his spoons, that had been dangling from Burner's horns, to leap back into his hands before stowing them in the gaps between his forearms and the natural bracers that grew around them.

Burner and Roscoe returned to the bench while Komo entered the ring and awaited a challenger.

The blaziken whispered to his sparring partner, “I don't want to talk about it aloud. Read me.”

Roscoe stood upon the bench seat to compensate for their height difference. After a couple seconds, he asked Burner to exhale slowly. When he did, Roscoe re-positioned his hands and sharply jerked Burner's head. The blaziken's caw was much louder than the cracking of his upper spine. Roscoe spoke aloud out of respect for the trainers now staring at him; he without benefit of technical machine, a situation that lent a very rough and hoarse quality to his words although he was remarkably intelligible. “That bone was out of place. It will be sore today. Go here and be soothed.” Roscoe palmed Burner's face again and forced into his mind something of a map.

* * *

  
James dropped Percival off at Zein Pokecenter and continued on his way with haste, disappointing Grace who intended to try while the car was stopped to seduce Joe to join her in the backseat so she could be properly beside him.

There, Percival checked-in at the center and released Sam. “Listen, green bean. We've got two goals this weekend. I've got mine, and you've got yours. I don't want to come home and show Ma you're not a meter taller. Got it?”

Sam nodded affirmatively, but solemnly, and followed his master as they embarked on his journey.

Zein Pokecenter's automatic doors glided open with a hiss. Something about the cool spring breeze felt colder than the winter's chill that gripped Sam months before.

They walked un-accosted until reaching the I–Z bridge.

* * *

  
Burner wandered the streets, guided by a forged memory till he reached his destination. He could not read the sign's language and entered suspiciously, ringing the bell above the door twice: once by opening the door, and again by his head brushing against the bell itself. The lobby was a small room containing nothing but a few chairs and a service window. He saw little more than the top of an old woman's hair lean into the window and then vanish, as it chattered something indistinct into the room behind.

The rough accent came through the window again after a moment. “Left side, Room 2, she pay your fee. You go in now.”

Burner followed instruction and found Room 2 to be heavily decorated in Oriental trappings surrounding a massage table. He stood beside it and glanced around the room. It was so heavily decorated that he did not immediately notice Alice standing beside a door on the other side, camouflaged by a cheongsam she wore.

“I miss one day at the park and you search me out?” She guided him onto the table. “I don't know if I should take that as sweet or creepy.” She began massaging his back.

“I was concerned. But, coming here was Roscoe's idea.”

“Ahhh, makes sense. He ‘accidentally’ noticed that I was trying to think of a place that would hire a freed pokemon, and ‘accidentally’ noticed I had been dabbling in massage again, and ‘happened’ to know of a place that might have a position available.”

Burner groaned as she started working on his neck. “The woman up front, she said that you'd pay—”

Alice rolled his head to the side a bit, and it popped gently. “Time in here isn't free.”

“I have money; on Joe's account. I can—”

Burner felt Alice's chest spike press into his back as she leaned over him and pressed her head beside his own. “It'll only be about a day's pay. The tips are where my food money comes from, anyhow. Now, relax and think about tonight.”

“What's happening tonight?”

“You are coming over to my place, and you're going to reciprocate.”

* * *

  
Sam regained consciousness beneath a noon-time sky. “Did… ungh… did we win?”

Percival did not look away from his hot dog. “We? Not completely. You don't get much experience out of a battle when you've fainted and can't remember it even happened.”

Sam grumbled. “Then box me.”

This was not something a pokemon typically asked for. “I'm not going to get you into your third form if you're P.C. static.”

“I'm not going to get into my third form if you keep putting me up against pidgeots and fearows. Yes, Frankie can shoot them down, but if I'm pecked to pieces and the other guy has a ground type, what is Frankie going to do? Signal-beam it to death? Then, you're riding back to Zein for a team restoration and medical sign-off.”

“Good thinking. I need to look into T.M.'s and tutoring for him.” Percival asked Frankie to not let him forget about that and tossed Sam a sitrus berry. “We're going to Indan Falls. If we get wiped out, then to hell with the League credit. You'll just spar when you're able to stand through the weekend and we'll get re-certified on the way home.”

Percival stood up, mounted his bicycle, grabbed his balls, and recalled his pokemon. As he began pedaling away, he heard a voice ordering him to stop in the name of Pokemon League. Percival halted and turned to see a trainer many years his senior approaching him with a challenge. That was suspicious, since seeing an adult on the trail pre-season means he's either a crummy trainer or gets off on beating up younger kids' pokemon.

“Another one?” Percival exhaled, “This makes seven today.”

The challenger grinned. “It won't take long; I saw your team as I was walking over.”

Percival did not like his tone. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That I'll play you, one of mine versus your two, and I suggest you don't bid more than the minimum wager.”

Unable to afford bidding more without risking bankruptcy on the first day of his journey, Percival resisted an urge to call his insulting bluff. Percival parked his bicycle and released Sam. “Yeah, minimum is fine, I'm sure you've got this in the bag.”

The challenger opened one of the balls on his belt, releasing a gliscor.

Sam realized that his foe was too strong and fast to give him time to charge a solar-beam, and resorted to an energy-ball instead. He got the attack off, but only after the gliscor had already flipped in the air and descended upon him with an acrobatic body-slam. Ludmilla was knocked back and laid out flat, but shook off the impact and took flight again. Sam, however, was out cold. Percival grunted and switched him out for Frankie. The ampharos hardly realized that he was out again when a high-pitched shriek above him cause him to look up and see a frightful bat coming down at him. He hopped away to dodge, but Ludmilla was not aiming for him. She struck the ground with great force producing an omnidirectional shock front that kicked up a cloud of dust, knocked Frankie down, and toppled Percival's bicycle for good measure.

* * *

  
Alice patted Burner on his right ass cheek. “Alright, time for you to go. I don't want to treat you to two days' pay.”

Burner was reluctant to rise as while most of his body had become fully relaxed, one part gathered all of the lost stiffness. However, he could not resist her as she pulled him from the table.

“Seriously, big boy, the old bat will charge me—this wasn't supposed to be that kind of massage. Those cost a lot more, first of all.”

He quickly snatched a nearby towel to cover his shame. “No! Alice, I didn't think that. It's just that I've been thinking about you a lot more, and that started happening to me. I've tried to stop it but—please, don't think that I wanted to be your friend because I—”

Alice pulled him downward and engaged Burner in a passionate kiss. He wrapped his arms around her body and together they held a pose that lasted until a timed warning chime played through an inconspicuous speaker that typically emitted relaxing music at low volume. Alice's demeanor shifted professional. “Unless you want to pay me back for a second hour, it's time for you to put that silly thing away and let me get ready for my next client.” She returned to the obfuscated door through which she entered. “Remember, tonight. Any time after nineteen should be fine. I expect you to treat me to a massage that's even more stimulating than the one I just gave you.”

* * *

  
A couple trainers of differing experience levels passed the signpost marking Zein's southern border as they exited town.

“Bah! It's no problem. I'm paying back a karma debt.” Ludmilla dozed draped over Bartholomew's shoulders; were it not for her tail and stinger it would look like he wore a cape. “Plus, I was headed to Zein anyway.”

Percival adjusted his baseball cap. “You just left it and now you're going back to Indan Falls. What's the point of that?”

“We got here faster by traveling together because no one was looking for doubles matches.”

“It was slower for me because we both walked when I could'a rode.”

“But together we'll get to Indan Falls faster.”

Percival feared this argument was becoming circular, again. “And then you'll be walking alone to Zein again.”

“And since my last center visit is here at Zein, if we get washed out, I don't have to back-track.”

“You're back-tracking right now!”

“Millie, I think I'm fighting an up-hill battle.” His gliscor whistled a pitch too high for a human to hear as anything but a click and snuggled against him. “Listen, Parker—”

“Percival.”

“Potpourri, Paprika, it doesn't matter. That's the point that you're missing. Just because I was in Zein today doesn't mean that I have completed my objective of going to Zein today. As it turns out, I've got to get to Indan Falls first.”

“No, you don't. We're fine on our own. Turn around and go back.”

Ludmilla sneered at Percival.

Bartholomew scratched her behind her ear. “Don't mind her. She doesn't like stupid people, is the thing.”

Percival released his bicycle. “Man, just stay away from me. I don't need your attitude or your philosophy.”

Bartholomew and Ludmilla watched him ride into the distance. The trainer spoke to his lead pokemon, “At least he's got determination, so I'll say he'll get as far as I–Z Bridge.”

Ludmilla chuckled in agreement.

When they approached that bridge themselves, they passed a trainer with a monferno whose fur stood on end. When they passed over the bridge's crest, they saw Percival at the bottom, dousing Sam with a burn spray while Frankie tended to his own injuries. Soon, they met with the novice once more. “You're right. Your attitude and philosophy is looking a lot better than mine, Packard. I guess I'll continue on my way to Zein via Indan Falls. If that fancy bike of yours brings you by in one piece, feel free to stop and chat a while. Maybe we can catch a doubles match.”

Percival watched Bartholomew walk away, bouncing slightly to help Ludmilla get a better grip on his shoulders, having slipped slightly after looking back and blowing a raspberry at the novice trainer and his wounded warriors.

* * *

  
For the sake of convenience, Grace teleported from the backseat to the outside of James' car once they arrived home. The accessories they bought for the pool not only crowded her in the rear seat, but shifted during transport and entangled her. James entered his home to tend to telephone messages and mail while Joe and Grace hauled their haul to the home's backyard.

Joe acquired two brooms and began raking debris from the pool cover's edges with one, while Grace, benefiting from neigh-weightlessness, used the other to conduct matter from the center and into his reach. “It's gonna be great once this thing is ready for its first swim.”

Grace shook her head. “Marianne and I already had the first swim.”

“Yeah; I'm sorry about that. I hope your next will be a bit more enjoyable.”

“It will be if you're with me in there instead of her.”

Marianne appeared beside Grace and yelled, “I said I was sorry!”

Grace swatted her away. “No, you didn't.”

Marianne hovered in thought for a moment. “Okay. I told Burner to say it for me. Don't blame me for his failure. Besides, I just said it now; loud and clear for the world to hear. That counts, you picky little snot.”

“Ladies!” Joe did not want the pool water to be stained with crimson blood or—purple essence?—that would further delay the opening process. “I thought we were over this. Marianne, be useful or be gone. That's what we agreed to about you, isn't it?”

The ghost thought for a moment again, and started giggling to herself.

“What now?” Grace asked, stirring her tendrils with the broom she held.

Marianne drifted backwards toward the house. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing that you can see from the inside. Now, you two have fun with your backyard puddle project.”

Inside, she sneaked through James' door and floated over his shoulder as he read a letter at his desk. “I'd ask if it's good news or bad news, but anything on that letter-head isn't good news.”

“It's not good news, but this other letter might be.” James reached for an opened letter at his side while Marianne began to envelop his left shoulder and showed it to her.

“I guess in your position, ‘experimental’ is worth a shot.”

“I'm tempted. But it will put me in hock with two creatures I don't want to answer to.”

“The creepy old man?”

“That's one. He's the only guy with a reason and a means to get my name on a list to test a drug that would have to be imported.”

“What's the other?”

“You. Grace won't read me, you can hide the pills where they won't be stumbled on between doses, and if I have some sort of weird reaction to this stuff, I'll need a scapegoat who everyone would believe might do something horrible to me.”

“You got it, on a few conditions.” She extended her tendrils around his shoulders, and drew him against her substance. “One, if you have a reaction, I get to make it worse; there's no point in getting blamed for fun I didn't have. Two, something we'll discuss later. Three, I add conditions at my leisure should I find them necessary or convenient or amusing.”

James began to pen an accepting response to the experimental drug's offer. “At least Mr. Well makes it clear what he's after.”

“What? You can't see through me? I'm naturally translucent.” She pulled away and exited through the wall. “It's gotta be in the Y-chromosome.”

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
“At least it's a beautiful view,” Carlos remarked on the panorama from the top of an unnamed peak north of Allylidene Forest. The spring weather had thinned the snow, although it was still ankle-deep on average. Ruby and Rosa stood close beside him as they watched Hunter Hague trudge to the peak next, carrying a large metal briefcase looking identical to the one Carlos too brought.

“Whatever,” Hunter complained, “This is probably all your fault. You were supposed to meet me and you didn't.”

“I tried. I went up to that middle of nowhere bar in the dead of winter and she said she threw your ass out for being a drunken lout. Hey, you're the hunter, why couldn't you find me?”

“Shut up.”

A murkrow that monitored Hague's ascent pecked his ear.

Carlos sat on the case he brought. “Okay, we're here. Now what?”

“I thought you had the even-numbered instructions.”

“I did, reaching the summit was even-numbered. All eyes are on you, man.”

“Tandem bullshit. I'll make it up then. We sit here and freeze to death after nightfall. Sound good?”

“Not really, but it's better than getting eaten by sneasels.”

“I'll give your dogs that one. They certainly kept them at a distance.”

Ruby and Rosa were visibly pleased to receive Hague's compliment.

Carlos and Hunter exchanged small talk for a short time, before being interrupted by an old man and an articuno arriving by air.

Mr. Well dismounted, ignoring the men's immediate complaints, and unlocked the cases. Inside one was a collection of small panels and rods. Carlos was instructed to assemble them, and discovered it to create a small table. Simon indicated precisely where to place it, near a singular stone that jutted from the peak's otherwise quite flat and weather-worn surface. Hunter's case contained four cone-shaped hats, an equal number of bowls, spoons, a large metal scoop, and a number of packets containing colored flavored juices. It also contained a small electronic music player. Mister Well set it upon the assembled table and activated it. It began with the first movement of Vivaldi's The Four Seasons.

“Wear the hats, this is a birthday party.” Mister Well took two for himself and his pokemon and passed the other two around.

Carlos and Hunter glanced at each other awkwardly as Simon took the bowls and the scoop, gathering snow from its deeper collections on the peak and then drizzling the desserts with the packets' contents.

“Ivana doesn't care for cake. Besides, can you imagine bringing a cake up a mountain?”

Ivana grumbled something in Simon's ear.

“Oh, yes. I have become careless in my years. Share in the bounty, little ones!” Simon took another packet and used it to flavor a patch of snow near Ruby and Rosa. A murkrow stole from Simon's bowl while his back was turned, an act completely anticipated.

Simon returned to his stone seat beside Ivana and continued, offering seconds, which all but Hunter accepted. After their treat, Mr. Well ordered the men to restore the supplies to their cases. As they worked, Simon moved the player to the stone, increased its volume, and rested himself against the stone's slanted side, donning a pair of sunglasses and watching Ivana fly about care-free overhead.

“Ivana's birthday is the only day of the year that I do no work at all, you know. Three-sixty-four a year on-duty; I do at least a quarter day's work on weekends and holidays. I'm not complaining, but it does mean that I have a certain expectation, you see, that people who only work 250 days—or fewer like you two—be able to get a few things done and done right. Anyway, since you each have failed me in your own special ways, I intend to put you in service elsewhere. And, since the tasks I plan for you will be less involved than climbing this mountain, your presence here today guarantees that you have no excuse to fail me again.”

Ivana had disappeared from sight, but Simon watched still. “Apparently you, Hunter, have succeeded in destroying the last relationship you have with this region, so I'm sure of your compliance. Take your case and go, now. You'll receive your instructions and passport when you need them.”

Hunter cared not to argue, took up his case, and began down the peak's shallow slope, cursing beneath his breath whenever the murkrow pecked at him to hurry him along.

The trapper uncomfortably tried to instigate conversation with an occasional hum, cough, or shifting of position, but Simon was willing to speak only on his own time table.

“Do you enjoy the view, Carlos?”

He took another look around. “Yeah, it's wonderful, Sir.”

“I suppose I do owe you an apology. I underestimated the gardevoir that I sent you and your deceased fellow mercenary after. Among its options of attacking with psychic trauma, teleporting a threat away, inducing burns, paralysis, and sickness, and even distorting space-time itself, it is quite a rare gardevoir that would choose to outright murder a human, no matter the provocation, unless it was trained to hate and destroy. Had I expected such a threat, I would have supplied appropriate equipment. In my oversight, I deprived that man of ever enjoying this view. So, I thought it only right to ensure that you got the opportunity. I'm offering you another opportunity, if you will, to sight-see so to speak, in exchange for fulfilling a few small errands on my behalf. But, here or there, you would tell no one of your mission, your arrivals and departures, and you would be going alone. Your pokemon cannot travel beside you.” Ivana landed and walked near Simon. Her feathers sparkled iridescently with a coating of fine ice crystals. “Think it over, we will speak again when the stars are right. Take your case and go. The rest of Ivana's birthday belongs to her and I, alone.”

With Ruby and Rosa leading the way, Carlos took his case and followed them back down the mountain, expecting to catch up with Hague or find him in tatters beneath a swarm of sneasels. Looking across the landscape, an expanse of evergreens extended like a flocked green carpet before him. At its end, Nybomy Fields lay many miles away.

Simon removed his sunglasses as Ivana settled down beside him. He petted her gently with his right hand as she cooed. With his left, he sifted beneath the snow, digging through an out-of-place patch of gravel, and withdrew a pokeball. It was plain and its button had been removed and replaced with a filler cap long ago. Simon's eyes watered slightly.

* * *

  
Indan Falls Pokecenter was quite underwhelming; truly it was a re-purposed third of the town's library. It had barely enough space for a service counter, one medical room, and an office for the employees. On the up-side, other services such as network access and reference resources were available by passing through the double doors leading into the library proper. Percival was left to find his way to a market on his own, as Bartholomew had abandoned him while checking-in to have his pokemon restored and his League account re-activated. His funds well depleted, when he reached the town Pokemart, he sold back a few supplies to purchase a rod.

South of, but in sight of, the namesake falls, Percival selected a spot along a weathered dock. Another man was fishing there, and the park adjacent to the creek was packed with trainers of varied ages and their wide variety of pokemon, playing field games together. Percival settled in, releasing Frankie, who flopped down on the dock and relaxed, maintaining a low charge. For the first forty minutes, Percival became well practiced in the art of baiting his hook with a bit of berry, responding to a tug, and then throwing back a magikarp. Sometimes he got a typical fish, which his neighbor was happy to take off of Percival's hands.

“Thank you kindly. So, since you're not here for the magikarp or the common fins, what are you hopin' for?”

“Feebas. My T.D. said they can be caught here.”

The fisherman chuckled. “Not the way you're tryin' to.”

“Why not?”

“You gotta have the right lure. Something pretty that sparkles.”

Percival did not care to lose more time or money shopping. Another half-hour passed, Percival still forwarding his frequent non-pokemon catches to his neighbor.

“Seems like everything's biting for you that you don't want, while I'll be lucky to drag up a boot before sundown. That's ten, right?”

Percival shrugged. “I'm not counting.”

“I think that's worth one of these in trade.” The fisherman handed Percival an ostentatiously elaborate lure.

* * *

  
“Now, for the best part,” James slapped his hands together, “let it filter for a while, check the pH, shock it when it's ready, and just about the time you're going to bed with school in the morning, it'll be okay to swim in.”

Joe's jaw fell slack as he looked at his father. “You're kidding, right? All this work—”

“I'm tired. I'm going to have a sit-down. Take your gardevoir with you to the rental kiosk. We'll have an extra movie night this weekend, and I'm pretty sure it's her turn to pick.”

Joe collected Grace and left for a nearby fuel station that offered media kiosks. Waiting in line, Grace became bored standing behind and beside her master and let her left arm slowly begin to embrace him. She sensed his thoughts shifting, becoming more comforted and fluid, as they felt when she projected herself touching him the same way in their dreams. The moment lasted a few wondrous seconds before Grace felt a sharp emotional spike.

It was a judgment, a criticism, a denouncement. It was the woman standing behind them. Grace's reflexes wanted to spin about and confront her, as the thought struck Grace's senses like it was a kick to the shin, but she remembered that that would only make the situation worse. Grace wondered why she remembered something like that, when she had no actual memory of an incident like this, and pondered till she felt Joe step forward with the line as it filled a gap. She let her arms fall to her side as he moved.

With the woman only inches away and mentally focused on her accusation, Grace could not suppress her ability if she wanted to: “That boy's what, maybe in high school? If that thing is a female, she's probably already rewired his brain to make him a deviant. At least it's mutant-colored so he can be the envy of his fellow pokephiles.” Hearing the woman's thoughts only made Grace's memory feel stronger, yet it still could not be placed. She became nervous, like she was losing something, or had lost something.

The woman was not alone. Others in the station were thinking similar things. They were too numerous to isolate passively, but the psychic atmosphere itself seemed to shift. She heard an intercom announcing departures and arrivals. Who were they to judge? It was none of their business. They should be so lucky to feel the love that she felt, even if it was fated to be lost the day after it finally bloomed. Jealous is that emotion, not disdainful! They can't be right, no, no matter how many of them chastise me in their minds, no matter that not a single one sees two hearts behind his human body and my pokemon form, they can't be right. I was wrong before, I was not wrong now, what we did was right, I know—

“What do you want?”

Grace leapt forward and captured Joe with her arms, shouting something incomprehensible to humans.

Joe almost lost his balance and stumbled into the kiosk. He glanced about with embarrassment as he saw the whole store staring at his pokemon's outburst.

“Grace. Let's pick a movie and go.”

Her name brought her to her senses. She straightened her hair a bit—an excuse to ever so briefly hide the blush in her gills with her hands—and drifted to the touchscreen, flicking through new releases. She really did not care what she got, she just needed to get away from these people. She selected a generic romantic comedy, Joe paid, and as soon as the film was downloaded to a chip, they were on their way.

Joe took her aside as they passed the residential reserve. “Grace, what was that about?”

“I don't know. I mean, I know but not completely. It was all those people. When I got close to you, they started thinking I was hurting you. It made me feel terrible and then I—I don't know. It's like I faded away. Then, I was holding you again and we were at the head of the line.”

Joe placed his hands on her temples, gently touching her gills with his fingertips. He gave her a brief kiss. Her blush returned, and she silenced him when he opened his mouth in an attempt to vocally express something he could not put into words. He did not need to, she knew exactly what was on his mind. She drifted along behind him, loosely linking their minds with a day-dreamy connection as they continued home.

* * *

  
A natu perched on a bench near some boys and girls playing soccer waved her left wing and deflected a kick out of bounds. Frankie discharged futile static when the foul ball bounced off of his back and into the slowly flowing creek. He tried to stand but was hardly off the planks when an eevee leapt on his back, then his head, and then into the river in pursuit of the ball. A boy ran to shore near the dock as the swimming eevee nudged the ball back to shore and emerged behind it, not bothering to shake off the water.

The fisherman called out to the boy. “Hey, your eevee seems to like swimming!”

The boy kicked his soccer ball toward a different ampharos who was serving as his team's goalie. The eevee continued pursuing the ball. “He does. A good thing, too, since I want to make him a vaporeon as soon as I can get the stone for it.”

“I think I can help you out with that.”

Percival shouted with joy. “Finally!”

Frankie jolted the feebas that dangled from a borrowed lure. It flopped weakly on the dock a couple times before Percival activated a ball and trapped it. His T.D. analyzed the ball's data and provided a basic stat report. “I hate naming; anyone want to suggest something?”

The boy shook the fisherman's hand and thanked him for a water stone. “What, like, first thing that comes to mind?”

Percival tapped on his T.D.'s screen. “Girl's name.”

He shrugged, “Fiona?”

Percival hummed twice in a dismissive tone as he confirmed the entry.

The boy headed off to honor his half of the bargain and fetch the fisherman something from a nearby hamburger stand. That was going to make the stone more expensive than the fisherman intended, since it would put the boy's dragonair in mind of food, a state he often seemed to get stuck in.

Percival returned the borrowed lure and took off for the pokecenter. He had a fish to evolve, and needed to arrange a mutually beneficial trade and trade-back to make it happen.

* * *

  
“He's not going to watch it because he's got his own romantic comedy going on. He's the star.” Marianne's comment making Burner's feathers rise somewhat, she immediately began fluffing them chaotically with her tendrils until he swatted through her and excused himself to walk across town.

Joe sat on the love-seat beside his father, who really had not moved much since sitting that afternoon. “Are you okay, Dad? You seem kinda wore-out.”

Marianne swooped in. “I've been gnawing on him at night. You know, James, maybe you should go to bed. This movie isn't going to do much for me, and if you get a few extra hours, it will make up for the dream I'm going to suck out of you.”

James did not have the energy to argue and let Marianne lead him away.

Grace teleported into the seat's vacancy, grabbing Joe with her right arm while snapping up the entertainment center's remote to her left, pressing its play button. “Guess it's just you and me, tonight.”

James slid into bed, not bothering to change clothes beyond discarding his pants.

“James?”

He opened his eyes and grunted.

“I want to make a deal.”

He grunted again.

“Let me lie in your bed, hold me in your arms, and don't mind if I whisper another man's name.”

James leaned up. “What?”

“Just for the first few hours. In return, I promise I won't feed off of you in the night.”

He stared at her for a moment, taken slightly aback by her genuinely serious face. “God, fine. Whatever.”

The experience was disturbing, but not entirely unwelcome once James got used to the coldness. She adjusted her density to be firm yet yielding, like something between a pillow and an inflatable pool toy. He had almost fallen asleep when he heard Marianne sobbing.

“Ghost?”

“I'm sorry, thank you, goodnight.” Marianne was gone with a blink, leaving James with nothing to support his now impractical pose.

* * *

  
Burner ignited a wrist for light. A tiny note taped over an un-powered doorbell button directed him to find a cellar hatch behind the house. He wove through the cellar, lined with empty wooden shelves and a thick layer of dust and debris. Entering the home proper, nothing but bare surfaces, peeling wallpaper, and a few spider webs greeted him. His fire was the only light save a slight trickle from street lamps finding gaps in the boarded windows. He investigated the second floor and found it too in disrepair. The third floor provided a destination: a room with light on and a faint radio's voice leaking into the hall. He ducked his head into the door frame and knocked on the opened door.

“Come on in!”

Burner entered a room completely unlike the rest of the house. It honestly reeked, although of fresh paint and new carpet whose style left something to be desired. He looked about; the room contained an old sleeping bag, a wind-up radio, a battery-powered emergency lamp, a small box of non-perishable foods, a foam cooler, and a large bucket of paint.

Alice sat on a carpet scrap, painting the last needy wall in a shade that the paint's first customer rejected. She dropped her brush into a paint roller pan and stretched a nearby length of cling film over it to keep it from drying while unattended. Standing up and walking toward Burner, she extended her arms and yawned, ensnaring him as she came against his body.

“Unnn, I've been painting since I got off work. Everything hurts. It's your turn to rub me and make me feel better.”

“I'll try, but I don't know anything about massage.”

“You've got all night to learn. Just listen to what I tell you and by sunrise, you're going to know exactly where I like to be touched.” Alice handed him a can of lemonade and began re-arranging her bedding. “I'm sorry it's not really cold, the ice didn't last very long.” She folded her sleeping bag into a thick pad, turned her pillow lengthwise near it, and inflated a ring cushion, placing it between the bag and pillow. She lay face-down on the construct, with her chest spike settling in the cushion's hole. “Come on down.”

Burner knelt beside her and gently placed his palms on her back.

“Don't be chicken. I'll tell you if you're off track.”

He began emulating the motions she performed on him earlier in the day in a clumsy but determined manner.

Alice moaned into the pillow. “Yeeeaaaah, until further notice, whatever happens, don't stop rubbing me.”

Burner continued for about five minutes, growing uncomfortable. The sounds she was making was reminding her of his dream that morning. “Alice, am I really doing this right?”

“Honest—unnngh—ly, not really, but I don't care. It's working okay. Keep doing whatever your instincts are telling you to do.”

Burner swallowed hard. His instincts told him to take her advice and let them lead him. He changed the pattern of pressure he applied to her as he re-positioned himself, raising his left leg and planting it on her other side, straddling her lower body. He leaned down over Alice and increased the pressure he applied to her spine, eliciting deeper, more primal sounds. His breathing became heavy.

Moments later, Alice felt like she could melt. Weakness to Fire gained a new meaning. Her senses seemed to shut down and focus only on experiencing the moment. All but her sixth, which remained ever vigilant.

“Burner.”

He was not so much rubbing her with his claws as he was now gripping her. He lowered his body and began gently pressing against her.

“Burner, stop.”

Like the first five of hers, his senses felt completely driven by instinct and were loath to respond with anything more than a bestial growl against her right ear.

She felt him re-positioning his body again, and planning to re-position hers; her aura sense warned that she must not allow this to continue. She swung her right arm out and then back, jamming a dorsal spike into Burner's hip, driving him off and rolling him onto his side and back. That got his attention. He rubbed the wound and looked at the blood now on his palm as Alice hugged him. “I'm sorry, Burner. I love you, and I really want to, but we can't do that. Not right now. My home doesn't even have a single finished room; now is not the time for me to make an egg.”

Burner sat stunned, both from the pain and from how close he had come to breaking his promise.

Alice handed him a napkin so he could blot his wound. “Now, it's my turn to take care of you, and I know a safe way to do it.” She admired the evidence of his desire for her as she knelt beside him. With the first stroke of her tongue, Burner no longer felt the pain of his injury as he clenched the napkin against his hip and gasped uncontrollably.

* * *

  
Percival noticed the graffiti that was written all over a plain-looking machine embedded inside an alcove wall's face at Indan Falls' pokecenter. Button number two was adorned with a stick figure trainer being carried aloft by six little birds gripping his sleeves, the figure demanding, “Flap harder!” Four and Five depicted two pokemon before judges in a competition, seen from behind: a muscular gallade's pose receiving poor scores, a gothitelle's exposure of her chest receiving high marks. Button seven taught waterfall: apparently tired of their trainer's attitude, the six birds seem to have flown their trainer to a waterfall, and released him into the river a few meters ahead of the drop.

After three seconds of bone-rattling squeals passed through the headphones, Fiona had been injected with the ability to cross water gracefully and to force atmospheric humidity to suddenly condense into a crashing wave. Percival's account was charged for his use of the H.M. programming device and for a couple headache tablets to give to his surf-enabled milotic.

The unconscious sea serpent's head slipped from the speaker pads and slapped against the pokecenter/library's floor.

Sam was incensed by what he was seeing. “Master, is that not enough? She has been hooked, paralyzed, trapped, forced to evolve, and had four, five? T.M.'s applied in a row! I know you're in a hurry, but—” Sam reached out to Percival; his hand was slapped away.

“Shut up. You aren't pulling your weight, so it's falling on her.”

Percival recalled Fiona and took her to the counter for rejuvenation service. “Are you getting thirsty, hungry?”

Sam admitted, “A little.”

“You stay with the fishie, I'll get us some snacks and we'll find a place to camp.”

Percival exited the center and walked across the street to a pharmacy. He approached the counter and placed a rare candy upon it. “This will work if it's powdered and put into a drink, right?”

The pharmacist frowned with experience. “It will take longer to have an effect, but yes, if your pokemon consumes the entire drink. A half-dose would be wasted, or could cause a problem.”

“I'll risk it.” He went to the small market section of the pharmacy to find something Sam liked and to pick out some decent road food.

Back at the pokecenter, Percival collected his pokemon and rented a tent to set up camp near the creek. Frankie provided some light while eating bologna. Sam noticed that his bottle of ginger ale tasted a little funny, but assumed that it was because the brand was one he had never tried before. As soon as he finished the drink, Percival declared it to be bed time, recalling Frankie and ordering Sam to sleep outside of his ball, and outside of the tent, supposedly as a guard. Sam assumed it was a sly punishment of some sort, but he felt kind of funny, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

  
Alice winced as she ran her tongue across her lips and moved up to snuggle her lover. “God, you really do have a lot of salt in your diet.”

Burner was too relaxed to answer, and responded by hugging Alice tightly with one arm.

“Hmmm, that feels good. But, we can cuddle a little later. It's your turn again. Just do to me what I did to you; and be careful with the edges of that beak.”

Burner looked slightly confused as Alice began re-arranging her bedding. He snapped out of confusion when she laid down on her back and revealed his objective, re-winding her radio while he crawled toward her.

The room became dim as the lamp's batteries started to fade, but the flame that burned inside the room would glow everlasting.

* * *

  
Public address speakers spoke in stereophonic sound, as they surrounded her at various distances. “Now boarding at Platform C, red line to Hexyloxy Harbor. Platform A, evening commuter loop arriving on-time in thirteen minutes.” She worked slowly through a moderately-dense crowd, slowly because she did not know where she was headed, and slowly because few would yield to her passage.

“Get back in your ball!” an anonymous voice chided as someone with plenty of space to pass by bumped into her anyway. Someone else nearby wondered why the laws against stray animals were not being enforced. She wove her way to a vending machine in an alcove, away from most of the traffic. She did not know how it worked, but she could force it to operate telekinetically. It had to look legitimate, though. She did not have any of the things that would make it go, but she brought her hand to one of the slots a few times as if she were putting in the little round shiny things while she sensed its mechanisms. It was a challenge compared to the machines she defeated near her home when she was desperate for safe fluids to drink. She tapped the button featuring an orange can, keeping up appearances. The machine resisted her—its parts were plated with silver, including the bin that held its coins, but she could still teleport them within the mechanism. One of the larger coins she teleported to the top of the coin shaft and let to fall; a few times, fooling the device into believing that it had been compensated.

A man in a uniform approached her as the machine rumbled. She felt his presence and his intention. The soda fell just in time. She withdrew it and turned around. “Saa!” she shouted, pretending to be startled by the officer. Holding the can in front of her face and lowering her eyes, she struggled to speak their language. “Foh—mai—maas—tugh.”

The officer squinted a little. “Then get it to him and stay close. No unaccompanied pokemon in the terminal. Do you understand me?”

She immediately nodded and cast herself adrift in the crowd until she found an exit. She felt out her surroundings; a panel truck passing by had some empty space in it. She teleported inside, sat against a stack of boxes, and opened the can. Lemon-lime was not her favorite flavor, but it was refreshing and the can did match her colored skin, which she found amusing in a faint, ironic way. When she finished sipping away, she let herself slip away into a nap undisturbed until she felt a presence nearby. The doors to the truck opened. She opened her eyes and saw Joe standing there, only he was an adult man.

“Grace?”

She leapt to her feet. “Joe! Why are you—I'm not, wait. I'm dreaming; and so are you.”

“I was dreaming about something else, then I felt you in my head and now I'm here. Wait, are you green right now because this is a dream?”

The gardevoir looked at her skin with confusion. “I don't—”

A loud voice outside of the truck caught both of their attentions. Instantly, the dream collapsed.

* * *

  
Sunrise was still a couple of hours away. Burner tried to enter his home without being noticed.

“Burner and Alice sitting in a tree!”

He shushed Marianne, once politely.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

Then, again, but rudely.

“First comes lust, then comes coit—”

A springy door stopper twanged as James' door banged against it. “What the hell's going on—”

Marianne flew to his side, her face expressing ecstatic joy. “Lookie! Burner made it home alive. Isn't that great?” She clasped his shoulders and bobbed up and down as though she were hopping.

Joe and Grace staggered into the living room, too.

“We were all very worried about you, Burner; weren't we?” Marianne twisted back and over herself, staring at Grace and drifting into her personal space. “Weren't we?”

“Joe; put your pokemon to bed.” James left, slamming his bedroom door behind himself.

“You heard Dad. Everyone, sleep.” Joe paced away, as did Burner, but Grace remained behind, not wanting to lose a staring match with Marianne.

The ghost's crooked smile became as wide and sharp as it could. “Weren't we?”

“I don't have to worry about him,” Grace nodded toward Burner's bedroom. “He can take care of himself.” Grace turned to leave, but Marianne deftly came before her by flying through her and turning about.

“He is strong, but he is family. You didn't even notice that he didn't come back tonight—I guess you were distracted, right?”

Grace pushed by. Marianne stopped her again. That grin was gone.

“Pay more attention, Grace. You're a psychic and you behave like you've got blinders on.” Marianne dissipated into the home's darkness.

Grace dragged herself into Joe's room and slipped into bed with him.

He stirred. “Grace, will you tell me what that dream was about?”

“I—I don't know. It was the one I had before, when I fell out of this bed. A different part of it, though. I think.”

He reached around beneath the covers and grasped her hand. “Forget about that weird dream, then. Come play in one of mine.”

Grace smiled in the room's darkness and held him close. “Gladly.”

* * *

  



	9. Dispositions

 

* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 9: Dispositions.  
  


* * *

  
Emerging from his tent, Percival wondered if sleeping on the ground might prove to be the death of him before his first summer as a trainer concluded. He rubbed his eyes and turned slowly, responding to a faint sound of footsteps on grass nearby. As he lowered his hands from his face, he briefly saw a green blur before darkness. His starting pokemon cold-cocked him; an alternative to saying, “Top of the morning to you.”  
  
Emerging from his stupor, Percival wandered the park field for a moment, looking for Sam and finding him seated on one of the docks. Approaching cautiously, he considered the viability of ordering Fiona to ice-beam some water so he could chill his forming bruise, or perhaps to ice-beam Sam as a precautionary measure. “Put some of that warrior spirit into your fists when you hit pokemon instead of people, and maybe we'll get a win once in a while.”  
  
Sam looked behind himself and sneered.  
  
“Hey! You have no right to behave like this. I'm not stupid; I figured out you were ready to evolve and were suppressing it with that zen garden crap you're into. And, even if I were stupid, my T.D.'s hints would have tipped me off by now. You've been screwing with me for at least weeks, if not months. Why? What is your problem?”  
  
“I liked the body I had. I wanted to keep it, at least for a little while longer if not permanently.”  
  
“Do you even realize how much stronger and faster you are now? I sure as hell do, I hardly saw that hit coming.”  
  
“Stronger and faster. That may be important in the circle, but it means nothing outside of it. I don't need to be stronger and faster to read or to garden; to do the things I do when I'm not working toward your ends.”  
  
“You'll manage. Get off your butt and come along. If you want to vent, you can do it on whatever pokemon the trainers we meet have on them.”  
  


* * *

  
Awakening somewhat late in the morning, almost eleven, Joe investigated a lack of activity in the house while Grace took first turn at the bathroom. In strong contrast to the day before, the kitchen was cold. No one had even popped in for coffee or toast. A faint metallic clattering noise behind Burner's door lead him to knock.  
  
“Good morning!” Burner responded, and invited entry.  
  
Joe stepped inside and saw Burner lying on a somewhat inadequate weight bench that had been collecting dust in the corner for some time. He was using most of its weights on the bar. “Is arm wrestling with Komo not enough of a challenge anymore?”  
  
Burner chuckled. “He's still going easy on me. Joe, is everyone still asleep?”  
  
“Grace is in the shower. Dad's door is closed. Marianne hasn't done anything to us, yet.”  
  
Burner rested the weighted bar on its cradle and stat up on the bench, inviting Joe to sit beside him. Joe closed the door and accepted his invitation.  
  
“Master, I need to ask you about something. I know that trainers will sometimes share pokemon and order them to make eggs, and that some pokemon just like making eggs whenever they're able because it feels good. Where I came from, my parents' job was the first kind of thing, and I saw some of the other, too. Mast—Joe,” Burner grasped Joe's hand and leaned in close, “I wasn't sure what kind of life I would have. I met pokemon whose trainers saw them as family, and those whose trainers saw them as little more than animals, or just toys to play Pokemon Battle with. I know that I am very lucky to be here, to have you be my master. I know that you don't plan to join League. But, I also understand that things change sometimes. I want to ask you to promise me that, whatever happens, you won't trade me away, and you won't make me breed with someone else's pokemon.”  
  
“Burner, I promise. That's silly. What makes you think I would do any of that?”  
  
“I was thinking about something else, and that came up while I was doing that. It's something else I need to ask you. You, Master James, Grace—I love the members of my family. But I'm also feeling that way about somebody else.”  
  
Joe was surprised, but only slightly and momentarily. “Wait, are you asking me if you can ask Alice to be your girlfriend?” A faint impish grin began to form on his face.  
  
Burner was shy to admit that that line had already been somewhat crossed. “Master Joe, I know I'm young and I've seen enough movies showing foolish infatuations to know to be careful. But, I want to give this a chance. We all know her, no one seems not to like her. Except Marianne, but I don't know if she counts. Uh, I think she would be a good addition to my family, and I think her and I are at a point where I need to know that you are okay with her becoming more to all of us than just someone we know.”  
  
Joe's grin vaporized during Burner's elaboration. “And that got you thinking about—all that other stuff.”  
  
“Someday, if it isn't just a foolish infatuation.”  
  
“It isn't only because she's a good cook, is it?”  
  
Burner chirped, straightened up slightly, then relaxed. “That doesn't hurt.”  
  
Joe thought about it for a moment, just long enough to make Burner less relaxed. “You are right, Burner; Alice and Grace get along okay, and Dad warmed up to her fast like he did to you, so I don't see why we shouldn't keep getting to know her better.”  
  
Burner's beak serrations became exposed as he grinned and gave Joe a sideways hug, resting his head over his friend's. “Thank you, Master Joe.”  
  
“But, you have to promise me something, big guy.”  
  
“Anything!”  
  
“If you're going to be out late on a date, let us know; I'll have Grace K.O. Marianne so she won't raise Hell when you sneak back in.”  
  
Burner released Joe. “If it's all the same to you, I might like to stay over there sometimes.”  
  
Joe looked up at his blaziken with a smirk. “You really are very lucky.”  
  
“We. I'm not the only one here with a good female in his life.”  
  
Joe's smirk vanished as he glanced away and muttered something low and incomplete as he thought about the weight of Burner's statement.  
  
Outside the door, Grace looked like a discolored meloetta with her thick, heavy hair wrapped in a towel. Joe's mind became suddenly obscured and confused with a mixture of logic and emotion. She struggled to sort it out for a moment but teleported back to Joe's bedroom when she realized that Burner was approaching the door while suggesting that they make something for breakfast.  
  
Joe and his blaziken entered the kitchen and scrounged around. A disembodied voice took issue with the taller one's selection.  
  
“Cereal? Burner, you're made of fire, can't you make anything decent?” Marianne sank through the kitchen ceiling, her complaint being her regular morning salutation. Both boys ignored her. “Well, at least make something for James. He's not feeling well.”  
  
Grace drifted by the bar stools. “No thanks to you, I'm sure, disturbing everyone just to make a scene in the middle of the night, and I could sense you in his room screwing with his head while I was in the bathroom a few minutes ago.”  
  
Both the scarlet and yellow coloring of Marianne's eyes seemed to redden and glow with fury. “I was helping him! You don't want to know what he would've been dreaming about if I wasn't there to protect him.”  
  
The gardevoir's eyes glowed in a subtle but similar fashion. “The only thing anyone in this house needs protection from is you! You've evolved like you wanted to; why are you still here?”  
  
“Because—because I w—I ne—Iiiieeeyyyaaaaahhhh!” Marianne quickly formed a shadow-ball, but Grace was anticipating Marianne's typical response to losing an argument and quickly swiped her with a thunder-wave charged palm, preventing its complete development. What little had formed, however, spun away, deflected toward Joe.  
  
Burner stepped into its path, absorbing a blow that knocked him back into his master and them together against the kitchen counter. He regained his footing and stepped toward the girls, each preparing another strike, and grappled Grace with his left arm while swatting at Marianne in the same way Grace had, but with a crude will-o'-wisp flaring from his wrist instead of an electrical charge, since a non-elemental strike would not affect her. “Ladies, not inside the house.”  
  
The ghost appended with a mocking voice, “You heard him, Grace. Not inside the house. Always trying to start something. Trouble maker.” Marianne floated toward and through a kitchen window, seeking the pool to cool a singed tendril.  
  
“Aagh!” Rising from a squatted pose near the floor, Joe staggered a bit and rubbed his back. “That counter really hurts when someone uses a rooster to hit you with it.” Burner and Grace both attended to him promptly.  
  
Burner lifted his master's shirt and examined the wound. “You've got a bruise coming up. Grace, let's put some ice on this.”  
  
She nodded and floated around to the refrigerator to get a few ice cubes and wrap them in a dish towel.  
  
“Lucky for you,” Burner continued, “I know someone who knows about helping back pain.”  
  
Joe huffed, then tensed as Grace applied the ice. “I don't think a massage is going to make it hurt less, Burner.”  
  
“Maybe not, but I think they do acupuncture at her job, too. That might do something.”  
  
“Acupuncture from a pokemon that has three large spikes on her body. I think I'll just try not to get sandwiched between you and the counter-top for a while.”  
  


* * *

  
The rage seemed to be infectious. Although it could be said for all of the pokemon she was facing in the gym, Fiona had never seen a zebstrika before. Its early flame-charging hardly hurt and at first she thought she might succeed at whatever it was the young man now her master wanted her to do. A minute later she was paralyzed and seeing nothing but a blur of hooves stomping on her body. Then, slamming into the horse, a green blur that left behind a trailing shower of shattering leaf-blades. As her ball activated and everything turned red, a few officials and their pokemon joined the fray to separate Sam from a pokemon now as much red as it was white and black.  
  
Inside the gym leader's office, Percival set beside a young man named Taylor, who had half a mind to resume the brawl that Pinstripe began and that Sam escalated.  
  
“Mister Briggs. I don't know how the gyms run where you come from, but in Indan Falls we do not tolerate fighting after a referee declares a pokemon to be incapacitated. Now, I do know your zebstrika is a male and their wild-charges get a little wilder during the spring and early summer. That is why it is your responsibility as a trainer to train your pokemon to behave appropriately.”  
  
“Ma'am, not everyone can afford the spee—”  
  
The well-dressed woman pounded her desk with her right fist as a form of punctuation, making a bobble-head wobbuffet beside her pencil cup jiggle dramatically. “No! I'm not going to accept any excuse about a mute being harder to train than a talker. Boys and girls younger than you had no trouble raising and training notoriously difficult species for untold decades, centuries! before the speech T.M. made getting in-touch with a pokemon no more difficult than ordering fast food.” She punched a notch into Taylor's I.D. card and flicked it across her desk. “I'm suspending you for the rest of the preseason, and I'm flagging Pinstripe's record until you show this league that you've taught him some manners.”  
  
“Yes ma'am!” Taylor spat with sarcastic inflection as he snapped up his card and left the office.  
  
“Mister Finnegan. I'm willing to overlook your sceptile becoming involved, since he was defending his teammate. But, exactly when did you tell him that going for the throat with x-scissor against a pokemon that he has knocked to the ground is acceptable?”  
  
“I've never encouraged anything like that.”  
  
“Then do you have any explanation? He's not a mute, so you can't try to play Mr. Briggs' excuse of not being able to communicate two-ways with him.” Percival had nothing to say. “Should I ask him myself?” That forced him to respond.  
  
“He's angry at me. Sam has always been obedient, but we've been disagreeing lately and he's been on-edge, especially this morning.” Percival pointed out the bruise on his cheek, which aside from the swelling did not stand out too strongly against his flesh tone.  
  
“No kidding. Sort him out. You're suspended for the preseason, too. I'm not going to put a warning on Sam's record because his conduct was justified at first, but I am going to put a watch on it. If I get an e-mail because he got into trouble again, I'm going to get in touch with the official that had to deal with your mess and make sure the punishment is doubled.” Mrs. Towers chipped a chunk out of Percival's I.D. as she had Taylor Briggs'. “Now, go. I've got provisional trainers who actually train their pokemon waiting to participate in this league with professionalism.”  
  
Frankie met Percival in the lobby and handed him Sam and Fiona's balls. Percival examined their rejuvenation report cards. Sam was fine, but Fiona's internal injuries would be best let to recover for a few days. “Frankie, this is not going the way it was supposed to.”  
  
Frankie opened Percival's backpack and fished out a stick of jerky. He bit off the end at an angle, leaving it with a meaty point, as he walked to a large map on the wall near the gym entrance.  
  
Percival followed and looked at a spot that Frankie indicated by using the jerky's bitten tip as a pointer.  
  
“Yeah. Might as well go home. I'm not going to get my first badge this weekend.” He exited the gym feeling like his backpack had grown heavier. “In fact, screw it. Let's ditch this tent, get the deposit back, and take a bus home. I need a break from this trainer shit.”  
  


* * *

  
James seemed very groggy at the breakfast table.  
  
“Dad,” Joe asked, “is something wrong? You haven't been looking very good lately.”  
  
“Thanks for the compliment.”  
  
Joe re-positioned. “No, I mean, are you sick or something?”  
  
“I think I got too much exposure to the pool chemicals. I'll leave it to you guys to keep testing the water and get it opened up right.”  
  
Joe was not really believing his father's excuse, but had no position to counter it, and watched James eat in silence. Afterward, James excused himself and went back to bed.  
  
“Well, asking him isn't going to go anywhere. Grace, are you feeling anything I'm not?”  
  
Seated beside Joe, she wrapped an arm across his shoulder. “You know I promised not to probe him. Something is going on, though. Right now, I can't sense his mind in there, just his body. That means she's with him.”  
  
“I think it's time we did something about—” Joe began to rise but Grace forced him back down into his seat.  
  
“No. No, I believe her. It seemed like she was making all of us ill when we sleep, but I'm thinking that might be different. I think she's helping him. She said something last night, after you went back to bed.”  
  
Joe waited for her to continue, in vain. “What did she say?”  
  
Grace stood and collected James' plate and silverware. “That I wasn't paying enough attention. I'm going to start.”  
  


* * *

  
Percival accepted a window seat and gazed outward, waiting for the bus to move. He did not notice who took the aisle seat beside him until the man spoke.  
  
“Taking the easy way out? If you were planning to travel by bus, you should've told me. I would not have been taken out of my way and now need to ride the bus to get back on schedule.”  
  
Percival faced Bartholomew with wide eyes. “Are you stalking me or something?”  
  
“You over-estimate your attractiveness, Bud.” He drew out his T.D. and activated it. A faint glow surrounded the device. “Jotham, see if you can figure out what's gotten this guy all grouchy.” Angling his T.D. toward Percival, the device expressed a rotom's face as the ghost leapt from Bartholomew's T.D. to the one in Percival's pocket, then back again.  
  
“What the… hell are you doing?”  
  
“Jotham just checked out your T.D. to get your registration numbers, and now he's going to hack around the network and dig up some dirt on you. That way, we'll have something to talk about during the ride.”  
  
“I don't want to talk.”  
  
“Too bad.”  
  
Percival waited with dull anticipation as Bartholomew did various things with his T.D., including taking a call which seemed to indicate that someone was upset that he was behind schedule, and gave Jotham a reward snack for his efforts, but Bartholomew did not say another word to his neighbor, even when stepping into the aisle to let Percival out to leave when the bus arrived in Rennin and dropped him off.  
  
Walking home from across town, Percival stopped at Rennin Pokemart, wherein he grabbed a soda and snooped around for anything that might seem inspirational or useful. A soothe bell caught his eye; anything to improve Sam's demeanor would be worth a handful of pocket change to buy it, which was about all he had left. Percival removed it from its peg hook and considered whether or not he should present it to Sam as a peace offering, or to sneak it onto him while in his ball via P.C. transfer until a familiar jangling sound made him turn about.  
  
Solymar's bracelets chaotically collided with each other as she repeatedly twitched her index finger at him. “You aren't supposed to be here. Something's wrong.”  
  
“What do you mean? I went south, got my milotic, and came back.”  
  
“Hmmm, and you would be at the park right now having Sam chase it around with solar-beams to get some experience going. Soothe bell? Either you can't tell the difference between milotic and gyarados, or something went wrong.”  
  
“Nothing is wrong. Don't you have shopping of your own to worry about?”  
  
“Komo has the list.”  
  
Percival walked away to pay for his goods. Solymar followed behind at half his pace, then stopped.  
  
“It's funny, you have a more dignified stride when you have your tail tucked between your legs.”  
  
Percival turned to retort but saw only the bracelets as the arm they surrounded slipped behind the near end of an aisle shelf. The far end was witnessing a machoke try to balance too many items in one arm while opening a refrigerated display door. For a fleeting moment, Komo wished that he had a couple extra arms.  
  


* * *

  
Grace flipped through the channels. When she was with her mother, late afternoons were often a time of peaceful relaxation. They would find a calm spot, she would lay upon her mother's breast, one arm around her ventral spike, and with their eyes closed, listen to the faint noises of the forest and soak up the faint vibrations of the whole of life's emotions, thoughts, auras, being—whatever it should be called. Grace stopped flipping through the channels for a moment as she realized that she never needed a word for that—something—all her life, but now that the speech T.M. filled her brain with words for almost everything, its having a gap for a concept so familiar felt very distracting and a little disturbing. Flip: a commercial for fast food. Flip: cowboys. Flip: an angry man with a mohawk expressing his condolences for someone else's fatuity. Flip: “Call now for a consultation from a real psychic.” Mentally tuning out the television, she tried to do what she and her mother did. Unconsciously reversing roles, she leaned back in the love-seat and took up a throw pillow to cradle against her chest.  
  
What she sensed from her mother she felt for herself now that her powers and physical form were developed. Letting her radius of focus expand about her, she first sensed herself, then the humming of electronics inside the television, and indeed the wiring of the house. A large blackness enveloped James' bedroom. Burner and Joe were at the pool checking the water; Joe was happy, perhaps they would get to use it before the extended weekend was over after all. Nachos. Mister Pearson next door was preparing to watch another ball game. Little white shadows, lots of them. That one cluster must be Delilah's jewelry box, she only wore silver decorations, being allergic to the cheap stuff and not caring for gold. More silver much farther out. Targeting posts for teleporting Psychic-types like herself. The pokecenter has a set, the hospital, police headquarters, too. Another one, almost invisible, on the out-skirts of town maybe. Can't focus on it, it seems to be everywhere, nowhere, moving, rippling, camouflaged by something else, some sort of… wave? More posts, other towns, that's all there is: a sea of living energy, specks of silver and a few other fine metals everywhere like all the stars in the sky, some static, some swarming, and targeting posts throughout the region. Other regions? It was too much to comprehend. Letting it fade into the background noise, there was something out there. It was a bright point of light behind a devouring spot of ink. Reaching out to it brought on a piercing pain that somehow demanded harder reaching. The spot was almost like a face. So was the light. Both were the same. They were one. It looked at her. Into her. It shouted through her with a voice louder than a lighting strike at her feet. “TOO FAR!”  
  
Grace bellowed not a scream nor a yell but a noise that can only be described as something like one's body trying to vomit up its own soul in disgust as she kicked herself up and over the arm rest of the love-seat, flailed in the air during a brief moment of levitation, and crashed back down to Earth, breaking the small end table beside the couch in the process.  
  
Trembling from her very core, Grace had difficulty seeing what was happening around her at first. “What was that noise?” Joe shouted from afar, seeing that someone was helping her up, that had to be James. She was in the love-seat again. Faces crowded around her; even Marianne looked concerned. Grace closed her eyes and covered her face. The television was not on; that registered as critical in her mind.  
  
“Did anyone turn the T.V. off just now?” Grace asked.  
  
Everyone looked at each other with confusion. Joe sat beside her. “I don't think it's been on all day.”  
  
With her eyes still shut, Grace leaned over and hugged Joe. “Then it was only a nightmare.”  
  
James spoke low. “You think you can handle this yourself, Joe?”  
  
Burner turned to James and emphasized his sentence's first word. “We can handle this, if not.”  
  
James nodded knowingly and left, taking his keys from a hook near the door.  
  
Joe brushed Grace's hair from her face. “Do you want to show me what your nightmare was?”  
  
Her eyes opened slightly, completely blood-shot. “No! No. It—you're sure the T.V. wasn't on earlier?” She glanced at it accusingly.  
  
“As far as I know.” Joe spoke with an incredulous tone, uncertain why the television seemed so important to her.  
  
Her senses and sense now recovered, Grace felt a little uncomfortable as the center of attention. “So, how's that pool?”  
  
“I think we're going to have to get in it tomorrow, even if the chlorine or pH is still a little off.”  
  
Grace adjusted her seated pose to be something a little more self-reliant and looked up at Burner and Marianne. “Okay, show's over. I took a nap and had a nightmare. Thank you for your concern, or sorry for bothering you.” They were unmoved. “I'm okay.”  
  
Burner returned to his room with a “Didn't look or sound okay” falling toward the liqueur cabinet as he passed through his doorway. Marianne drifted upward but never broke eye contact with Grace until the ceiling passed through her eyes.  
  
Joe watched her watching Marianne depart. “Are you, really?”  
  
Grace laughed half-heartedly and shoved him gently. “Yes. I don't even remember what the nightmare was. Maybe it was what will happen to us if you flunk out of school. Quit playing with the pool and go finish that homework you've been putting off.” As he departed to carry out her orders, Grace glanced at the television again before drawing the remote to her hand from beneath the broken table. She pressed its power button and felt the electronics within the television build their charges acutely for a split-second before she became numb to them. Her gills twitched. “Stupid dream.”  
  
A nature program. She spent most of her life among nature, and was familiar with both its good and bad sides. Flip: a commercial for fast food. Flip: cowboys. Flip: an angry man… with a mohawk expressing his condolences for someone else's fatuity. She almost lost her nerve to press the channel-up button again. Flip: “Call now for a consultation from a real psychic.”  
  
It almost seemed like a good idea; if legitimate, maybe the person on the other end could explain—this? Grace giggled at the commercial's claims. Usually they promised fortune, love, and career advancement. This one sounded more like a notice of a class-action lawsuit. “If you or someone you know is in a situation of uncertainty, call this number at the turning point and for the low price of—” Grace changed the channel again, the next station was showing only a test pattern. “This isn't too bad.” She leaned back and kept talking to herself. “If they're so good, then instead of me calling them, they could c—”  
  
The house telephone rang. Grace fumbled the television's remote. By the third ring, she telekinetically brought the handset to herself, and almost convinced herself not to press the talk button. “Uh, Rainier residence, Grace speaking.”  
  
“Hey girl, it's Poke-Master P. Is Joe free? I feel like beating his ass at Destiny Fighters before dinner.”  
  
“Mister Rainier left a little while ago. I don't know for how long, but you could probably get away with coming over. I won't tell if he doesn't ask.”  
  
Call completed, Grace set the phone aside, fished for the remote, and flipped it back one. The program was an obviously cheesy chick flick that had something to do with butter. Good enough. Percival arrived a few minutes later and passed through. When the next ad break came, the psychic commercial aired again. Encouraged by its promise that the first consultation was free, curiosity overcame her and she picked up the phone to dial.  
  
“We're sorry. The number you have reached is not in service at this time.”  
  


* * *

  
“EH! What you think you doing, blue dog!”  
  
Alice leaned out of the changing room. “My shift is over, isn't it?”  
  
“Isn't. We get a call, cripple old fart wants massage, plus, he pay good. Pay me good, you get normal rate. You put dress back on, go take care of him. Take the good oils with you.”  
  
The lucario started to don again her cheongsam uniform, not thinking highly of being sent out on the streets in such attire. Not that it didn't look good on her; that was part of what made her nervous. A bad memory worked its way to the surface, and she did not say anything to Mrs. Song when she took from her a sticky note with the address of her client.  
  
North-westward she traveled, to the wealthier side of town where every driveway had a gate, if only for show. She heard an occasional whistle or other primitive sound, often from domestic pokemon but from a couple of humans, too, although the latter seemed safely sarcastic in their tone. The sun was starting to sink low when she reached the address. As she approached the gate she noticed a security camera above it, and as soon as she looked into it, the gate began to open.  
  
About to knock on the front door, she sensed a presence on the other side and hesitated. It opened away from her elevated paw.  
  
“Oh, you must be the new one.”  
  
Alice immediately sensed a flash of contempt from the woman leaving.  
  
“Yeah,” the woman sniffed the air, which in her presence was thick with the scents of medicinal creams and astringents, “you smell like the Chief's type.” She pushed past Alice and walked with a hasty gait to her car at the end of the drive.  
  
Shutting the front door behind her, Alice searched around. The home was filled with memorabilia of what seemed to be a distinguished career in the police force. Her attention was so distracted by the gallery of photographs on the walls that she forgot that she was supposed to be on the clock until she heard a humming noise echoing through the house. She returned to the foyer and saw a silver-haired, although mostly bald, man coasting down upon a stair lift. He gazed at her the whole way down and wetted his lips when it stopped at the bottom.  
  
“I'm the Chief. That's what you call me, capisci?”  
  
The lucario nodded and stood straight, gaining a few inches as doing so let her legs and feet become almost like stilts. “Yes, Chief. I am Alice of Mrs. Song's Oriental Parlor, here to perform your massage.” She brandished her bag of essential oils, sponges, and other related supplies.  
  
“You're the kind who always comes prepared, I can tell. Good. Follow me up; unless you plan to do me on the pool table, of course.”  
  
Alice walked up the stairs slowly, as the stair lift was not particularly swift.  
  


* * *

  


* * *

  
  


* * *

  
Percival sat between Joe and Burner: physically, as they were crowded around Joe's video game console; and skillfully, as Percival was giving Joe the business in-game, but was receiving equal treatment from Burner, who had seemed to have fittingly mastered the tall, swift, and seemingly ungainly character he controlled. Joe at least had an excuse for losing, for Marianne's tendrils were wrapped around him something like a scarf that made you feel colder instead of warmer and slept leaning against and over the back of his head.  
  
It was Percival's turn to sit out and handed his controller to Joe. “I don't get it. Whenever you mentioned this ghost, you made her out to be some terror. She seems pretty cool to me.”  
  
“You want her? Here, free to good home.” Joe dropped the controller to the floor and tried to lift her away.  
  
Marianne's tendrils quickly tensed and wove together much more tightly, making Joe choke while she whined, “Not a good home. His sheep is mean to me.” She loosened her grip, lassoed Joe's controller, and forced it into his hands. “Play now, I'm getting bored.”  
  
Percival remembered back to Frankie's unexplained evolution and started wondering if Marianne was to blame for a number of mysterious events around his house.  
  
Grace drifted in with a large plate of nachos and a soda crate to rest them on within reach of the gamesters before settling on Joe's bed. “Ghost. Isn't that my spot?”  
  
“You get to have him anytime you want. I'm pooped, let me recharge.”  
  
“Okay, okay.” She sprang from the bed and contorted in the air, drifting behind Percival. “Well, Percy, if the ghost is going to hog Joe's mind, let's see if that trainer video game helped you any.”  
  
Percival twitched when Grace locked her palms on his temples, causing him to miss his mouth thus smearing hot cheese sauce across his upper lip and nose.  
  
After a few seconds, she released him, snatched away his broken chip, and took the plate, too, as she left. “You don't deserve any, Mr. Finnegan.”  
  
Burner's character took a nasty uppercut as he looked away from the screen. “What about the Rainiers in here?”  
  
Grace leaned backwards into the doorway at an impossible angle were her feet touching the floor. “Accomplices, until they think to ask why he's been playing video games all day while Sam, Frankie, and Fiona wait in their balls.”  
  
Joe and Burner turned to face Percival.  
  
Marianne unraveled her tendrils and drifted through Percival, making him shiver. “Hmm, I bet those are some tasty nachos she made. I think I'll go be Grace's friend for a while.”  
  


* * *

  
Alice tossed a small towel over it, but that did nothing to hide it, and the Chief flung the rag in her face a couple seconds later.  
  
“That's not the reaction I'm paying for, Alice.”  
  
“Sir; that… is not part of my job description, despite what you may have—”  
  
“You work at Song's. Don't you think we know what happens there?”  
  
Alice suppressed an embarrassed snarl. “I know what happens there, and who does it. I don't.”  
  
“You do tonight.”  
  
She quit suppressing her snarl and turned to pack Mrs. Song's product and materials in the bag.  
  
“Get back over here, bitch. You've got a job to finish.”  
  
Alice ignored him as he rolled halfway over and thrust his hips forward slightly with a lecherous grin on his face.  
  
“I'm done here. You can tell Mrs. Song to send someone else if you're not happy with my technique.”  
  
“Oh, I can tell Mrs. Song to fire your ass unless she wants my boys to raid her joint. Papers love it when we take down a place like that. Come to think of it, damn! I shouldn't have said anything and just done it. Come in on one of your shifts, collect you and any other pokemon there as evidence. Sitting in a justice ball in the evidence locker for a few days, months, years maybe, till someone came to claim you,” he noticed her ears twitch and aura organs splay at that, “yeah, that got your attention. That'd be about right for an uppity bitch like you.”  
  
Alice zipped the bag shut. “Goodnight, Chief.”  
  
“Come on. It only takes a few minutes. Make an old man smile, get a bigger tip than that wrinkled old bag pays you for two weeks of providing unhappy endings. Hell! I'll let you brush up and use my mouthwash before you go.”  
  
Her ears flattened and she shuddered at the thought, but his promise of payment did get her thinking. She dropped her bag in the hallway and turned back.  
  
“You've got a lot of connections, don't you, Chief?”  
  
He almost laughed. “Too many to count.”  
  
She returned to the bed and pushed his shoulders down. “I'm not a whore, but there is something you can do for me that would be worth—this.” She reached across his fat belly and grasped his re-stiffening erection. “There's someone in prison who I want to visit. They won't let me because I'm a pokemon. Regulations.”  
  
Chief nodded. “I can get you in.”  
  
Alice patted him on the cheek. “Deal.” She walked back to the hallway and sifted through the bag again to reach within a hidden pocket.  
  
The Chief watched her back-lit silhouette as she put the corner of something in her mouth and tore it away. “You sure do plan for what happens there.” He grunted as she rolled a condom down his organ's length.  
  
“You said it yourself: I'm the kind who always comes prepared.”  
  


* * *

  
Sam was stunned. He said what he said because he figured that he had no possible means to beat a blaziken, yet telling Burner that he did not want to spar with him—despite an earlier promise to do so after evolving—defeated the brave bird with one hit. He approached the weight bench upon which Burner now sat doubly distracted. Once, by the sound of his now leafy tail brushing the floor, and twice, by the fact that the Fire-type seated was almost as tall as Sam was standing. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I meant to say, I don't think either of us would get much out of it; my kind don't stand much of a chance against any Fire-type, and you're not an average Fire-type, either.”  
  
Burner looked up to Sam. “I didn't stand much of a chance against you, at first.” Burner stopped looking up to Sam and left the room.  
  
Sam made a conscious effort to keep his tail from dragging with its added weight and entered the living room. Grace and Joe were on the love-seat, Burner was in the kitchen shaking salt into a glass of soda water. “Why am I here?”  
  
Marianne dove through the ceiling. “Ah, the eternal question that has plagued philosophers for generations. Since you and Percy were being dicks to each other, Burner thought it might be nice if he threw a little sleep-over for you, no trainers allowed, so you could clear your head.”  
  
Burner brushed past the two, re-entered his room, lobbed Sam's ball through the doorway, and locked his door shut.  
  
Marianne swatted Sam in the back of his turned head. “And by the looks of things, everything is going exactly according to plan.”  
  


* * *

  
With a grunt, the Chief took a long drag from a pricey cigarette. “You must have come to Mrs. Song highly recommended.”  
  
Alice emerged from the Chief's bathroom. Although not immediately necessary, she took up the offer of his mouthwash out of convenience. “Not at all. I guess I'm just naturally talented.”  
  
“Lucky girl.”  
  
“Sometimes I am. Now, for your part of the bargain.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, let me get a pen.” He fumbled about his nightstand for a moment. “What's the name.”  
  
Upon hearing the name Alice gave him, the Chief dropped his yellow pencil and turned slowly to face her. “You've got to be kidding me.” His emotional state was undefined, lodged somewhere between shock and outrage.  
  
Alice's ears drooped as she crawled onto the bed and knelt beside the Chief. “I recognized your son in some of the photos on your walls downstairs and they make it clear you loved him very much. Promise me you'll let me see my daddy, and I'll give you something no one else can.”  
  
The Chief could hardly speak. “And, what's that?”  
  
“I'll tell you what really happened that night, from the perspective of someone who could sense auras behind the illusions.”  
  


* * *

  
James entered his home looking pale and exhausted. “Any more broken furniture?”  
  
Grace blushed a bit with embarrassment. “No.”  
  
“Good. Don't stay up too late, tomorrow's your last day off.” James did not notice Sam, or did not have the energy to care about an unannounced guest. Marianne appeared within James' chamber as he settled into bed. “I'm not in the mood for any of your crap, tonight, Ghost.”  
  
“Hey, you pay the piper to hear the song. Besides, you haven't been letting me actually help you.”  
  
“You don't know what you're doing.”  
  
“I know what I'm trying to do.”  
  
“Do you have any idea how weird it feels?”  
  
“Intimately. I got used to it decades ago; it's part of being a ghost. Now it's your turn to get used to it.”  
  
James lifted up his pillow and held it to his face. It was intended as a gesture and a way to not see how creepy her face was becoming, but it also served to make him wonder if he could smother himself with a pillow and escape his plight.  
  
“Go ahead and try, James. I'll pull fresh air through your body if I have to.”  
  
He mumbled through the pillow. “I hate you, Marianne.”  
  
Marianne smiled gently as James' comment brought forth a fond memory. Then, she set about the task of weaving her essence around every bit of his body in search of the many tiny troubles that plagued him.  
  


* * *

  
The truck's rear door opened. She opened her eyes and saw a strange man standing there.  
  
“Vivian?” he asked the gardevoir standing before himself. The man climbed into the truck and hugged her, much to her dismay. “I'm so glad you came back! It's been forever; I thought you would never forgi—”  
  
She should have either hugged him back or shoved him away. He realized that this was not his gardevoir as it froze within his embrace, stunned by it. He stepped back, disappointed. Then, he made a snap decision. He knew it had to be fast so this creature would not have time to read it off of his mind. He flung a pokeball at her, and caught off-guard by their queer interaction a moment before, she failed to escape its scanning beam.  
  
Darkness. Muffled sounds. Energy being drained—no, pacified. She patiently resisted its effect. As time started losing meaning, she knew she had to make her move and she forced herself free. She looked up and saw a large, red glowing eye. She tried to teleport, anywhere but here would do. She felt heavy—it had pursued her. Her energy seemed to claw at the æther as it was drawn backwards. Her entire body felt like it was being slammed by a charging beast from the inside out as she reconstituted. Collapsed to the floor, she saw a red scanning beam flash through her eyelids. She could not break free this time. At least the artificial grass she had lain upon so briefly was plush and comfortable.  
  
Once released from confinement, she retched. She felt like she needed to empty her stomach, yet it also felt as though she had never eaten in her life. An attempt to rise at least to her feet brought her to stumble. Caught not by her powers—they too weak to assist—but by the arms of another, she felt a man's hands fumble upon her torso before guiding her down into a seated pose.  
  
“Take it easy. You'll be okay in an hour or two. Then, have a look around. I want you to be comfortable in your new home.”  
  
When her head finally stopped spinning, she slid her body up the thing behind her and glanced around. It was a human's personal dwelling, certainly. She looked to the window. The landscape was very different from what she was accustomed to. The distance being only a few meters, she prepared to teleport outside, if only to have a look around, when a heavy palm gripped her shoulder. She turned to face it, and saw a large, red glowing eye. The dusclops grunted dismissively, and she accepted his warning.  
  
Content with viewing through the window, she looked out across a vast lake and surrounding woodlands. It was a nice place, but not her home. Her longing to leave was stymied by the same problem she faced earlier at the station: she had nowhere to go. There was nobody left.  
  
A voice sounded behind her. “Gardevoir! Come, please, you should eat something for your health.”  
  
She floated into the man's kitchen and was presented with a bowl of kibble.  
  
“You have been in stasis for many weeks. I know, I should've let you out sooner, but I was too busy with the move and my new job, you understand. Now, eat. If you wait for your appetite to come back, you'll already be malnourished.”  
  
She touched one chunk of the kibble. This was not food, it was contempt. She threw the bowl across the kitchen, scattering chunks all across a brand-new range and bolted for the door.  
  
“Fouroughs!” Once again, Pierre's dusclops pursued her, and once again, he brought her back into the home at a minimal state of consciousness.  
  
When she recovered again, she was in the dark, beneath the scarlet glow of Fouroughs' eye. He spoke to her in the language that pokemon did not share with their human masters: “Eat these.” He gave her a cluster of grapes.  
  
“I want to leave.”  
  
“I know. I, too. He has us. We won't.”  
  
“You, maybe. I will.”  
  
“You won't. I will keep you here.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“His orders.”  
  
“I don't listen to humans.”  
  
“Eat.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You will.” Fouroughs plodded away.  
  
She looked around again; she was in the room with the window that overlooked the lake. An admission of defeat, she popped a grape into her mouth. When she finished the last, she laid herself back. The human's furniture was comfortable. That fact annoyed her as she fell asleep.  
  


* * *

  
James sat at his breakfast table, watching the goings-on in his backyard. House-guest Sam was lounging in the sun while Grace provided Joe with a little extra psychic buoyancy so he could float as freely in the water as she does in air, while Burner sat in the shallow end and concentrated his energies toward raising his body temperature, creating a localized hot tub. The rising steam suggested that someone was cooking on open flame, and made Sam consider the potential of combining the Rainier pool with the Finnegan grill. The only trick would be passing between the neighbor's yards without getting caught or needing to widen the holes in the fences. The Parsons' could be bribed with some burgers if it were game day, but the Holbrights were terminally tight-assed.  
  
“Feeeeeeeeling better?” Marianne held the vowel as long as she slowly rose through the surface of the table until her necklace popped through its top.  
  
“A little,” James admitted while reaching for his glass of orange juice.  
  
“Gooooooood,” she grumbled as she sunk back down. He started eating again when she tussled his hair from behind. “So, J.R., why aren't you out there? You need some sun.”  
  
“Because I'm eating breakfast.”  
  
“You could eat out there, but fine. Then what?”  
  
“After this, I have paperwork to do, people to see, and tomorrow it's back to work.”  
  
Marianne folded her tendrils across his scalp and pressed his head forward as she leaned against him. “Booooooooring. You should go play today.”  
  
“You should make yourself scarce!”  
  
Marianne drifted around to the seat opposite James', pulled it out, and performed the best imitation of sitting down that she could, given she has no actual body. “I know you don't want to, but it is the right thing to do.”  
  
James mumbled a “What?” between bites.  
  
“Stop being negligent.”  
  
He did not respond.  
  
“I've tasted your dreams, and the memories they come from. Do you remember the one you had before that first morning you woke up feeling the after-effects of a maximum dose of Vitamin M?” She altered her voice at the end to be both boastful and tinged with pride.  
  
Caring more about getting breakfast—and this conversation—over with than about manners, James spoke with his mouth full. “Not really.”  
  
“Pretend I didn't bring it up, then. How about this. I know what's in the box.”  
  
James paused and lowered an eyebrow. “What box?”  
  
With a broad sweeping motion, Marianne flew through the back of the chair, and then the refrigerator, returning with the small box that had rested upon it for months. “Now, do you want to open it or should I?”  
  
“Don't you dare!”  
  
“I'm adding a condition! You own up to this. You can choose when you think the time is right, but you kept this for a reason. You brought this home for a reason. You go through with it.”  
  
James drank slowly. “That means I can choose when it's too late for it to matter.”  
  
“Yeah. And since you've admitted that, it's already on your conscience if you do.” She slowly drifted back and replaced the box before “sitting” in her chair again. She stared at him, hoping to maintain a solid visage, but her grin crept back in as she watched James try to act unaffected.  
  
Finally he broke. “What?”  
  
Marianne slowly faded invisible as she spoke, but could still be heard with perfect clarity throughout. “Oh, noooooooothing. I was only thinking about how, when you're a ghost, your conscience seems to be the only thing that can really get a grip on you.”  
  


* * *

  
Carlos received a call on his trainer's device. “Yes, I said I'm on my way. Jesus, Mr. Max—okay, I'm sorry, I'm going.” Carlos hung up and hung his head. The old woman on the other side of the counter knew how he felt.  
  
“You don't need to worry about a thing,” she assured him. “We're not like some of those day-cares that forget about the second half of the word. Your Ruby won't be forced to mate with any pokemon she doesn't want to.”  
  
“But, she will have to.”  
  
“Food and shelter aren't free. If you can't pay your bill, she has to work it off somehow and she will make a wonderful dam. If you don't like it, there's always electronic storage.”  
  
“No. I know. No, she was lucky to survive what happened, I don't want her in stasis, and Rosa—she's got too much life in her to do that to her because I have a crappy job to do.”  
  
“Then it's settled. Sign here, please.”  
  
Leaving his dogs behind, Carlos traveled alone to a dock near Hexyloxy Harbor and waited until a small boat named The Sphinx drew near. Its captain called out, “Hello, friend! Did you see the stars come out last night?”  
  
Carlos responded as he had been instructed to: “The stars I see don't come out until he lets them.”  
  
“Climb aboard.”  
  


* * *

 


	10. Remissions

 

* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 10: Remissions.  
  


* * *

  
Joe sorted through generic school supplies. He had acquired a new backpack for his entry into high school, letting his old one become dedicated to his hobby as a trainer. One could question if one is really a trainer when taking it only as seriously as a hobby, or if training in the sense sixth-tiers knew it was truly deserving of a greater title than “hobby” at all. A chime from his trainer's device within his old backpack alerted him to the news of the day: Percival had just checked in at Rennin Pokecenter, and would soon be home.  
  
Grace drifted inside Joe's bedroom and lent a telepathic hand, looking for things that Joe was struggling to remember the whereabouts of. She also retrieved a few other objects that had been set aside, such as his game console's second controller. “So, are you going to beat him up first round, or are you going to go easy and let him think he hasn't gotten out of shape?”  
  
Joe glanced up at her and the controller she let dangle from her hand. “Beat 'em up. If I can. He's been fighting for real all summer; you won't play with me so I'm probably the rusty one.”  
  
Grace set the controller down and switched which game was in the system. “I can't play that sort of game against you.”  
  
Joe zipped his new backpack shut and started looking for a few pens, pencils, and an eraser. “Why not? It's not like you hate violence when you're still having me take you to the gym every few days to fight until Medical kicks you off the ladder.”  
  
Grace drifted over with a smile, set his backpack aside, and sat on his bed. “Dad's not home and Burner won't be for a while. Marianne is watching a game with the Pearsons. Let's do it while we have some privacy.”  
  
“The gill massaging thing?” Joe asked her, casting her a half-annoyed glance. Grace nodded quickly with a smile and a sparkle in her eyes that asked, “What else?” Joe climbed onto his bed and neared its head. “Okay, but just a little. I think Dad got suspicious after last time.”  
  
Grace grinned, teleported a cushion from the love-seat into her hands, and gave it to Joe to place behind himself. Leaning his upper back against it, Joe held his pillow against his upper chest as he laid himself down, legs splayed somewhat. Then, Grace laid herself atop him as he folded the pillow over, providing padding and a little space for her dorsal sensory horn.  
  
Grace closed her eyes and leaned her head back into his waiting palms. “Think? I know he did. He wanted to say something, too.”  
  
Joe began slowly caressing the roots of her gills, eliciting a gentle moan. “What did he want to say?”  
  
“I don't know. He wasn't projecting that.” Eyes still closed, she reached up and placed her palms on his temples and began to synchronize with him.  
  
Linked, they no longer needed to speak. Their conversation was innate, automatic, sublime. And, somewhat distracted as she guided every nuance of his fingers' motions, strengthening the experience for herself. Joe felt a sense of pride and accomplishment—a seed of which he knew she planted in him—but genuine nonetheless. It was a trivial thing he was doing, just rubbing her ears, to speak approximately, but it delighted and pleasured her in a unique and sensual way that could not be described. Indeed, he could feel the speech T.M.'s lexicon inside her mind when they were connected this closely and there was literally no composite term that matched exactly. “Harmonious ecstasy” was a near match, though.  
  
Their link strained somewhat. Something in her mind was shifting; she was going too far again, like the last time they did this. Joe disapproved but her willpower was dominant in this state and he consented. It did not really affect him last time, although it did leave him feeling somewhat “funny.” Grace would be the one out of sorts for the next few hours, he expected. She began squirming between his legs, fidgeting as though she were being assaulted by an army of tiny people with tiny spears and tiny attitude problems. With both of her hands proper locked onto Joe's head, Grace employed her telekinesis to serve as a surrogate third and apply ministrations she felt a desperate need to feel applied.  
  
In the moment, Joe no longer merely consented to her going too far; he encouraged it, adjusting his fingers' placements on her gills and their motions slightly. Feeling him defying her guidance but performing as, if not more, effectively, Grace gasped and redoubled her telekinetic efforts. Within seconds her legs pulled up a little and squeezed together and she began squirming involuntarily. Unlike last time, she had not merely gone too far. The point of no return had been passed.  
  
“Uhhh, uhhhhhh, thank you, Joe. Joe! I—I love you, Joe! I—I'm going to—we're going to—”   
  
(Ding-dong!)  
  
The energy of her release coupled with absolute shock at the doorbell's chime caused Grace to force her arms straight, slamming Joe's head against his headboard while kicking her legs in a brief, instinctive run-away response. Sliding downward once her palms passed to press the wall behind them, her dorsal node passed the bottom of the pillow and dug into Joe's belly for a moment. Still synchronized and thereby feeling the same pain he did from both the headboard and her protrusion, her subconscious mind took over as she came away from his bed and somewhat righted herself. Without a thought, upon hearing the bell chime again, she teleported to the front door.  
  
She teleported into the front door; her body replacing a large oval faux-stained glass window that until that moment featured the image of a feeding hummingbird.  
  
Her subconscious mind had poor accuracy.  
  
A flygon on the front step, showered by shards of glass, jumped back and hovered until the gardevoir finished materializing and looked up with a dazed expression.  
  
The delivery girl checked an electronic device strapped to her right arm. “Special parcel for Rainier, Joe.” She then presented a small box.  
  
Grace accepted it and carefully pulled herself back through the door's oval decorative hole and backed away.  
  
The flygon poked her head inside, waving the device on her arm. “Hey, wait, you have to sign for that!”  
  


* * *

  
Grace caught up with Joe as he paced briskly to the bathroom. “Joe? This—”  
  
“Not now.”  
  
“But—”  
  
Joe shut the bathroom door firmly behind himself and shouted through it. “Dad was right. Whatever that is, we shouldn't—Just! Give me a minute!”  
  
As Grace heard the water begin running, a faint cool breeze drifted beneath her skirt and made her realize that her surmise that the effect she felt would apply to them both was right. It also made her realize that a faint cool breeze nowhere near an air conditioning vent indicated that they were not alone in their house.  
  
Grace turned about to see Marianne, staring at her, frozen in a pose with one of Pearson's nachos near her opened mouth, waiting for Grace to finish turning before biting into it. Which she then did, as though by remote control she had been un-paused.  
  
Crunch, crunch, crunch.  
  
Grace's stance slackened. “You were watching.”  
  
Marianne popped the other half of her chip into her mouth and nodded.  
  
“How long?”  
  
The ghost's grin widened to its limit. “Oh, don't worry about that yet, slut. It'll keep getting bigger until, well, at least through high school.”  
  
“What? Oh, God. NO!” Grace glanced back at the bathroom, responding to Joe's mental reaction to hearing her shout; he correctly recognized that NO as a typical consequence of direct Marianne exposure. “I meant, how long were you watching us?”  
  
Marianne ejected another nacho chip from her haze and took a bite solely so she could talk with her mouth full. “From about two seconds after you got too distracted to sense me.”  
  
Grace turned away feeling shamed.  
  
“Hey! Don't blame me. I came over to steal a beer because I lost a bet with fat-boy Pearson and owed him one. You chose to put out some irresistible vibes. Speaking of, that freak-out when the doorbell rang,” Marianne shivered and floated up against Grace's face, “ooooh, pure panic tastes soooo gooooooood.” Marianne rolled her eyes back while fluttering her eyelids during her O's and ended her sentence by hanging out her tongue and dragging it across Grace's cheek.  
  
The gardevoir cringed and staggered away, gesturing with her left arm as she exclaimed, “Ugh, gah, please, please! Leave me,” that was too open-ended, “us,” that was better, “alone!”  
  
Marianne floated northward. “Ha! Like I want to be around you two anyway.” Once she was out of earshot, drifting between the Rainier and Pearson homes, she added to herself, “I know someone who is even more energetic when the time is right.”  
  
Joe exited the bathroom fully-dressed, as he was when he entered. Grace had set his parcel beside the telephone and floated toward him but stopped as she felt his mindset. He did not want to interact with her, but he did not want to rebuff her either. He simply wanted not to acknowledge the awkward experience, especially as he now realized how powerful an emotion she could share. She obliged him by simply following him as he moved about his home, maintaining a distance of about a meter and a half as the rooms' layouts permitted, until he stopped wandering and sat in the love-seat. Grace teleported back its absent cushion and sat beside him in silence for some time, until the silence made him uncomfortable.  
  
She sensed that, and broke it. “I can't play that kind of game against you because there's no point.”  
  
Joe stared at the television as though it were on. “Because you could read my mind and beat me every time?”  
  
“Only if you let me.” She reached across and took his right hand in her left palm.  
  
He looked at their hands, then turned to face her. “I can stop you?”  
  
“If you focus, and if I don't force myself into your mind.”  
  
“Like your mother did?”  
  
“Yes, but not really. That was just communication. By force I mean, well, I mean: force. I'm sure it would be painful.”  
  
Joe started thinking about what that entailed, which was not what Grace wanted him thinking about.  
  
“Joe, it's because you beating me at that game would do nothing for you, and me beating you at it would do nothing for me.”  
  
They looked into each others eyes and reached an understanding.  
  
Grace placed a palm on Joe's cheek and leaned forward while guiding him into a chaste kiss. When it broke, she sneaked a glance over his shoulder at the damaged door and whispered, “By the way, whatever that was, it was amazing, and we are doing it again someday.”  
  
Joe spoke low. “I think, a while from now. When I'm a little older, and—.”  
  
“—and ready to feel what I feel when we're together—” With an accepting nod she stood and floated toward the kitchen for a refreshment, grumbling, “—by ourselves,” toward the ceiling that Marianne typically lurked above. Returning with a couple cans of soda, she and Joe barely had time to open them and enjoy a draught when the telephone rang. Grace raised her arm behind her head and attracted its handset to her palm.  
  
“Welcome home! Wh—yes, of course. We'll be over in a couple seconds. See you in a moment.” Grace replaced the handset and leaned over Joe. He had not heard and had not yet noticed what happened to the front door; she hoped to keep it that way for now. “It's time to pick up our fried chicken!” With him in her grasp, Grace concentrated and teleported herself with Joe to the Finnegan's home.  
  
As soon as Grace released him, Joe was re-captured and lifted off of his feet by a tower of warm, bright red feathers. Burner made his particular happy bird sound for a few seconds before letting him go.  
  
“It's good to see you too, big guy. Did you have fun?”  
  
Percival interjected. “There was a little here and there, but—being a trainer, a good trainer, is a lot harder than it looks.” Somewhat humbled by his experience on the road, Percival went on at length about what he learned during his journey, as much to summarize it for himself as for Joe's benefit.  
  
Burner excused himself and sought Sam, finding him inside Percival's bedroom, examining what had become of his bonsai tree. “Sam? Are you—ah, what's that?”  
  
“A victim of drowning.” Sam brushed a branch with a claw. “Our mistress fulfilled her promise to water it for me, but she was too generous. I am not surprised; that is in her nature. She will prepare a large dinner tonight, and invite your family to join in it, I am sure.”  
  
Burner was uncertain about what Sam was getting at. “Is that bad?”  
  
“Yes. If the soil has degraded this much, the roots are sure to be damaged. I'll have to re-pot it to see if it can be saved.” Sam put the tree back on his shelf and paused.  
  
“Uh, I meant, is that bad that she—”  
  
“I know what you meant, Burner. I have work to do—my own work—before my time is taken from me again.” Sam exited through the window, with greater difficulty than he expected since he now barely fit through it, and examined Delilah's garden for any useful soil.  
  
Burner returned to the living room, where Percival was up to the part of his story that was personally annoying.  
  
“I can't believe it, right? The guy was a first-tier gym leader in addition to being a vaguely philosophical bastard. He doubles the offer from the first time, his two against my four, and the house rules only allow trainers a switch option when a pokemon is fainted, thrown, or taps out. Sam's locked in as my registered lead, and out comes his gliscor from the first time. Sam's got plenty of speed now that he's evolved and got some leaf-blades off, but the batty bitch tanks the hit and nails him. Bartholomew makes a switch while I throw Fiona out. I don't even remember what his other pokemon was called, some import breed, but it faked her out, hopped up, and kicked her in the base of her skull. Wham, out like a light. He doesn't switch so I choose Frankie, hoping to at least get a static paralysis on his weasel on its first attack and then take it out. It freaking u-turns on him while he's charging up. The weasel is shocked but gets a free switch, and I get to hear that gliscor cackling like a fiend as she pops into an electric attack that does nothing. Needless to say, Frankie's fucked.”  
  
“Language!” Delilah shouted from the kitchen.  
  
“Sorry, Ma'. Anyway, I'm down to Burner so I throw him in. The gliscor tries to pull that acrobatic sh—stuff on him, gets a flaming kick square in the belly. She barely gets off the ground again, tries to quake him but can't get it off before he snipes her with an ember. Wonder weasel comes out, fur still puffed out because of the static, walks right up to him. Smack! Jumps up to his height and slaps him like a pimp. Burner takes a swing, but the weasel's already doing some crazy back-flip while casting stone-edge somehow and batters the hell out of him. They were about to call it a knock-out but Burner started getting up. The weasel was looking ragged and limping to the circle's rim—he must've been getting drained by a life orb—but he hears the official call the match live since Burner's got a knee off of the ground, and does some crazy high-jump stunt across the ring. Burner barely dodges it and the little snot slams into the ground and rolls over the tape. Knocked his own dumb self out, probably broke something, too.”  
  
Joe got nudged awake psychically by Grace—she was also tuned-out but detected Percival reaching the end of his recollection. “So, Burner got you your first badge?” Joe asked.  
  
“No. Burner got you your first badge. Since Burner got all the points in the match and he was on loan, the judge gave his trainer the win.”  
  
Grace spoke up. “Oh, that must've been what came today.” Joe looked at her blankly. “There was a delivery today. While we were—when I left—right when I—abruptly.” She glanced around at everyone glancing at her. “Yeah.”  
  


* * *

  
The Rainiers returned home after promising to stop in again at dinner time. As they walked back, James' car passed them by and pulled into the driveway ahead. Grace cursed beneath her breath; Joe and Burner realized why a moment later.  
  
James spoke when he heard footsteps behind himself. “What the hell is this? Did someone break in?”  
  
Grace held her hands together and let her head hang somewhat. “I'm sorry, Master James, I—”  
  
Marianne appeared upside-down, peering through the door's hole's upper rim. She spoke with a rapid, monotone inflection. “You failed to control your primal impulses and got yourself into a situation you were not ready to handle.”  
  
James looked at Marianne and Grace alternatively. “Either of you care to elaborate.”  
  
The ghost seized her opportunity, drifting through the solid portion of the door toward James. “All you need to know is that we shared a moment of beauty. And, it ended with Grace putting her head through a pane of glass.” She turned to face away from everyone as though she were snubbing them. “Any further details belong just between us girls.”  
  
“Does the repair cost belong just between you girls, too?”  
  
Marianne turned herself around and right-side-up. “No. I threw her. It's my responsibility. I don't care, it was worth every penny.”  
  
“You have money?”  
  
She thought for a moment. “Actually, better: I have a few doors I'm not using.”  
  
James waved her aside, stepped over most of the glass, and entered his home. “I don't want to know. Just fix it.”  
  
Joe and Burner followed James inside, Burner with a wide stride over the glass since he wore no shoes, but Grace lingered behind. “Why did you tell him that?”  
  
“Because I know of a door that can replace this one. Duh.”  
  
“No, I mean, why did you protect me?”  
  
Marianne's tendrils fell limp as she stared blankly at Grace. “After what you've been through today, you're still thinking only about yourself. I didn't protect you, Grace. I protected James. Which do you think is easier to swallow? I kicked your ass and threw you out without phase-shifting your matter this time, or that you lost your grip on your powers when someone rang a doorbell while you were busy forcing his son to give you an ear orgasm?”  
  
“It's not an—and I didn't force—”  
  
Marianne stabbed a tendril through Grace's neck, arresting her voice. “I didn't ask for clarification from you. I asked which truth is easier for James.” She withdrew her tendril with a sweeping flourish.  
  
Grace rubbed her intact neck and stormed inside. Marianne descended upon the broken glass, drew up a shard, and licked its edge while her smile spread.  
  


* * *

  
Mister Pearson did not look away from his ball game. “Ale, imported; not that domestic swill you brought last time.”  
  
Marianne accumulated herself beside him. “You drive a hard bargain, Baldy, but you understand the law of supply and demand. You've got the supply, so you get to demand.”  
  
“I couldn't afford to sit on my fat ass and watch footy half as much as I do if I didn't.” He snatched from her haze a nacho she attempted to sneak.  
  
“It's a deal, then. Ale—not swill—imported if they have it, otherwise you take what you get with a smile, and as a gesture of appreciation, I won't do my fun thing to you when you sleep tonight.”  
  
“Good enough.”  
  
Returning to her home away from home, Marianne made a grand entrance by punching through a garbage bag that covered the door hole to keep the early evening air outside. “James, you're licensed, it's driving time. Burner! We'll need some muscles. Grace! You broke it, so you're coming along!” Not hearing a response, she entered Joe's bedroom through its shut door.  
  
She found Grace standing beside Joe's bed as he slept, lights out, just watching him. Marianne whispered, “Hey, Pervert, it's door fixing time.”  
  
Grace responded after a delay. “What?” She looked around as though she were surprised to be standing there. “I wa—you, whe—what do you want?”  
  
Marianne ensnared Grace's upper body and pulled her gently through any potentially intervening matter on their way to the living room. A purple tint faded from Grace's body but Marianne did not let her loose. “Okay, boys and,” twisting to face Grace, “you: time for a little road trip once we get that old door off of its hinges. I'm no good with a screwdriver unless it involves orange juice, so who wants to do the honors?”  
  
With a quick phone call placed while James and Burner removed their ruined door, Grace enlisted Frankie to serve as a security guard while everyone was out and the home was an open house. Not that added security was likely necessary, but Frankie worked cheap—his fee was permission to make use of the entertainment center and all the hot dogs he could eat—and Grace felt a lot better about it than leaving Joe alone.  
  
Mister Pearson's pick-up truck was not a particularly large model. Burner rode in its bed, as his height and horns conflicted with the cabin's roof. He recognized the path they followed. When Marianne told James where to stop, he was not sure if he was pulling up onto a driveway or just part of the lawn. The whole surface seemed a patchwork of overgrowth and bare spots.  
  
Marianne sighed. “Ahhh, hovel sweet hovel. Well, time for you kids to get to work taking another door down. I'll go tell the vagrant what's what and get it opened up.”  
  


* * *

  
The mismagius struggled to keep from laughing; it was too good of a chance to pass up. A lucario on the top floor was so out of it that not only did her aura sense not detect her, but it let Marianne pull free her bows' ribbons and use them to carefully blindfold her and tie her muzzle shut. She expected Alice to be confused and frustrated when she awoke, but when Marianne ticked her nose, Alice reacted with a constrained fury. Muffled completely by her bound mouth, Alice tried to scream while she clawed at the ribbon with futile effort for a moment, until she heard Marianne laughing. An adrenaline-powered reaction, the lucario unleashed an aura-sphere that went straight through Marianne and then straight through the window behind her, blasting away a storm shutter that would never again feel unable to decide between open and shut and also the glass pane that it enclosed. Alice fled, guided only by a now hyper-active aura sense down her stairs, slipping and skidding half-way down the first flight, and onward until a powerful entity blocked her path. It was a vaguely familiar pattern, and she remembered the last time she was blindfolded and sensed imposing aura before her. She was not a mere riolu this time, and unleashed another aura-sphere, blasting the monster out of her way. A different kind of entity appeared behind her suddenly. Alice readied to attack again but could not focus as a piercing waveform in her mind drove her to her knees. It did not relent until a great tension came away from her face. She could move her jaw again. Although the darkness was practically total, once she calmed down her sixth sense gained resolution and she began to identify the forms around her. She recognized Grace standing beside her. She recognized Burner, lying in a hallway, out cold. A short distance away, something shadowy: Marianne was floating through walls mumbling about knowing there was supposed to be a revival crystal stashed away somewhere.  
  


* * *

  
“I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I'm not. It was going to be hilarious, if she didn't go berserk for no reason.” Thus was the limit of help Marianne provided while a somewhat unsteady Burner and a somewhat dismayed Alice loaded the Rainiers' old new door into Mr. Pearson's truck and while Grace finished tightening the screws of the hinges on the new old door to a supposedly vacant building.  
  
Alice spoke at hardly more than a whisper as she passed by the ghost. “It wasn't for no reason.” She went inside and looked around for supplies.  
  
Marianne shouted inside behind her. “No good reason. That's probably why you're as abandoned as this house! Got your master killed or something, and now you're a relic wishing to have a place to belong. Just like this house.”  
  
Burner moved toward the front porch while Grace approached Marianne, feeling herself a hair's breadth from attacking the ghost. “You mean to say, just like you.”  
  
Marianne smiled wide, her face becoming like a purple jack-o'-lantern, eyes glowing like flame, and mouth too, illuminated from below by the gems of her suddenly-glowing necklace. “Just like me.”  
  
Alice approached what was now her front door with a few short planks of weathered wood and a hammer of her very own. She started covering as much of its hole as she could and spoke between nails. “I didn't get him killed. He's—he's doing what he has to do to square things away and then he'll be back. And, I'm going to see him soon.”  
  
Burner handed her another board. “Is he coming here?”  
  
“No, I did something to arrange a special visit someday.” Her low tone returned to a near-whisper. “I know you want to ask but I don't want to talk about what I did.”  
  
James stood leaning against the truck's front left fender, smoking in silence. A fixed front door seemed to be the only good coming of this interaction. “Are we done here?”  
  
Marianne floated into the truck cabin. “Here, yes. Now, we go to downtown up-town.”  
  
Burner heard, and ignored, James' exclamation, consoling Alice who was beginning to tear up. He reached across her back, beneath her antennae and gripped her left shoulder gently. “It was an accident, and it was her fault. It's also not the first time you've needed to knock sense into me.”  
  
She sniffed but smiled a little. “I'm afraid I might have knocked it back out of you.”  
  
“Burner, truck, now!”  
  
Burner responded with a glottal cluck and turned back to Alice. “Get lots of rest. I'll come by tomorrow night. I have a surprise planned for you, but I need to go shopping to get it, so if I can't—”  
  
“NOW!”  
  
Alice poked him in his very sore chest. “If you can't, it's the thought that counts, anyway. Go, you bighearted oaf, don't make Da-da get mad.” She waved goodbye to them with a fake grin that fell away as soon as three Rainiers, and one presumably Tavers—as Alice learned when investigating the attic—rode out of view. She went inside, collected from the floor her ribbons, trudged up her stairs, and turned on a faint lamp by which to see.  
  
Feeling more herself with her bows tied again, she sat on her sleeping bag and gazed through the broken-out window, trying to think of what she might have that could cover its gaping hole, having spent the good wood on the door. Then, she started trying to think of why Marianne would do to her what she did. Then, she started trying not to think of a particular night long ago when she was blindfolded and bound. Then, she scooted into the corner of her room, pinning her pillow behind herself against it, drew the sleeping bag up over the legs she pulled tightly up to her chest, and cried alone.  
  


* * *

  


* * *

  
  


* * *

  
James drove north and west, to a rather busy street filled with lots of small entertainment venues serving Rennin's up-scale residents.  
  
Marianne gestured with her tendrils before James' face, keeping them translucent enough that they would not block his view of the road. “Two more blocks, then a right, and pull in on the dark side of Jolly Roger's parking lot.”  
  
Jolly Roger's was a theme restaurant. It was the kind of place where you could schedule a birthday party and all of the kids would come home with an eye-patch, a hat with a jolly roger in the center, and in the birthday boy or girl's case, a prop bird made of polystyrene and glued feathers attached with an alligator clip, establishing rank as the pirate captain for a day. At night, however, the clientele changed: the music that patrons sang in broken chorus turned bawdy, and the tattoos displayed were no longer temporary.  
  
Marianne was literally in James' face as soon as he parked the truck. “Okay, give me your money, J.R.; hey, J.R., Jolly Roger's, it must be destiny.”  
  
“It must be thinking of a good explanation for what we're doing here.”  
  
Marianne drifted back against the windscreen, her hat through it. “I promised Pearson a pack of ale to borrow his truck; I can order the good stuff here. You wanted the door fixed, right? It wouldn't fit in your sedan.”  
  
“And since you brought up taking a door you already had when I mentioned money today, I assume you expect me to pay for this?”  
  
The ghost managed some sort of doe-eyed look and twiddled a few tendrils together. “If you don't mind.”  
  
James' face suggested he had just choked down a bitter pill. “Burner, are you fit for guard duty?”  
  
Burner suppressed a groan as he turned to face James. “Always, Master James.”  
  
Marianne followed James out as he exited the vehicle. “They might not let you in, but you've swabbed a few decks, so maybe they'll give you a pass.” She lassoed him as he headed the wrong way. “Side entrance.”  
  
“What? Down that alley with no lights?”  
  
“I know my way around. You'll just have to trust me.”  
  
“Trust you? I think I'm going to be sick,” James mumbled.  
  
Marianne bit her tongue and led him through the darkness to a hinged, large metal grate that concealed stairs with a door at the bottom. She slid a garbage can away and lifted the grate. Its motion was absolutely silent, for the grate's hinges were well-oiled. After descending, James knocked on the metal door. A plodding sound approached from the other side. A noise of servos controlling an infra-red camera above panned across them, revealing James and not Marianne. The ghost spoke something shrill and indecipherable. Another noise came through the other side. They conducted a few variations on that exchange. James leaned forward to hear better, but her tendrils pushed him back, way back and up a couple of the steps, before receding. She mumbled something and the door pushed forward a millimeter as the being on the other side pressed against it.  
  
Arcs flickered along Marianne's tendrils. “YEEAAAAHHHH!” A blinding flash dazed James as she jolted the door with a thunderbolt. A thud and a clank on the other side followed her scream. She pushed through the door. “Maybe he'll listen to me now.”  
  
James rubbed his eyes, uncertain if his vision had returned since there were no lights by which to verify. His hands were soon pulled away and before he could say anything he felt an icy sensation passing through his body like a column of frozen lake water. As it passed, he could see faint lights ahead, purple-tinted by Marianne's form. “What? Did you drag me thr—”  
  
“Shush. Rules are: no questions ever, no talking, and you were never here. You went to Jolly Roger's, had a scurvy burger, walked the plank, and went home with a door prize that happened to be a case of ale, got it?”  
  
James' vision was now clear enough that, despite the meager lighting at corridor's end, he could see a large pokemon with a long snout and scaled flesh escorting them a few steps away. “Got it.”  
  
They were let through another metal door, into a large round room with electrified pillars along the walls and three silver posts somewhat inset. The center showed a number of stains, some surely from blood. Another metal door among a few others led them into a small room with a counter and a bench behind it. A strip door parted to permit passage of a slowking that was moving slower than usual. It barked at Marianne with great hostility, and she shrieked back.  
  
Aside, to James, she commented, “He's pissed because I fried his ass for being rude to me.”  
  
The slowking presented a small clipboard with a ticket on it. His writing was a mess except for the price.  
  
James started cursing her. “You've got to be shitting me. That's almost what getting my door fixed would've cost anyway.”  
  
Marianne gagged him with a tendril. “No talking. They don't like to hear The Master's Voice around here. Pay the pig, cash only.”  
  
James brushed away her essence from his face, looked at the slowking scowling at him, leaned in beneath Marianne's hat, and whispered with his hand near his mouth, “I don't have that much cash on me.”  
  
“Sure you do. I moved some money from your secret hiding spot that nobody knows about to your wallet.”  
  
James turned, intending to march out. A narrow, netted window in the door showed their red and black escort standing just outside.  
  
Marianne whispered in his ear. “The money is already theirs; right now you're deciding in how many pieces you leave this place.”  
  


* * *

  
Grace nodded off. Despite the noisy bar across the lot, she felt strangely relaxed. Or at least, felt something. She let her mind wander and her senses explore. Something very nearby, familiar. A pattern. Silver posts, heavily disguised by some sort of interference, but the cloak was not very effective at this range. She remembered that she had sensed them from home a few months prior, but, if she sensed them then, then what kind of a dream was that?  
  
She sensed something else, two somethings approaching. Opening her eyes, she saw Marianne and James returning with a small wooden crate. James opened the door and presented the crate like it were royalty. “Here, Grace. If we have a head-on collision, teleport the beer to safety, it's the most valuable passenger.”  
  
She took the crate, after what he said comforted only by the sarcasm oozing from his attitude, and shifted in her seat while Marianne settled in and substantiated somewhat so the truck would not drive off without her. “Okay. May I ask why it's so valuable?”  
  
Marianne tapped the top of the crate. “It's the good stuff.”  
  
James started the truck and pulled forward. “Apparently, Grace, Mr. Pearson wanted imported beer for borrowing his truck. The little purple nightmare decided we needed to get black market back-alley mystery booze instead of just going to the liquor store where I get my bourbon.”  
  
The ghost scoffed. “That stuff's a joke. They put a few drops of drain cleaner in the vat to give it an edge and use imported labels. Now, we've got four bottles for Pear-shape-son, one for you because you need to know what the good stuff tastes like, and one for me, because it's been a very long time since I had an—” her eyes shifted back and forth between James and Grace mischievously a couple times before she continued, “ale—and I need one for, well, let's call it, closure.”  
  


* * *

  
The replacement door was somewhat antiqued compared to its predecessor, but it was at least secure. In his wake, Frankie left behind two soda cans, zero hot dogs, and a number of little red bologna casing bands in a tidy heap.  
  


* * *

  
Grace watched over Joe as he slept, again, although to her it seemed to be the first time that evening. After pigging out at the Finnegans', he had wanted nothing but to go to bed early. Grace was primarily concerned that he may have gone too far as to suffer indigestion, but according to his brain waves, he had stopped just in time. She did not want to risk waking him, since the next morning would be his first day in high school, but she did not want to sleep in the Pokemon Room, either. Annoyed by the decision before her, she exited to the bathroom to urinate. She heard James and Marianne talking faintly in the kitchen, and left the bathroom door open to eavesdrop. Grace did not feel it was exactly a moral thing to do, but Marianne had no qualms about spying on the affairs of others, and she did personally instruct her to pay more attention, once.  
  
The ghost sounded three sheets in the wind. “Harvey knew a guy who knew a guy who—I think that guy fucked some other guy, you know sailors, you were sailors, a sail, awwwww, this shit's so good.”  
  
“You were right about that. This is good stuff, but damn, too strong and too expensive.”  
  
“You spend a lot but you enjoy it. Need to enjoy that pool, maybe you'll go swimming? We could, right now. I'll go naked if you will.”  
  
“Marianne,” James said with a scolding tone.  
  
“Ah, you wanna make it kinky? Okay, I'll go clothed if you will.”  
  
“That pool was a gift and a promise. I didn't promise anyone the most expensive beer in the world. What was that place, anyw—”  
  
“Ehhhh! No questions, ever! That place was Jolly Roger's. Scurvy burger, plank, door prize, excuse me; I'm such a light-weight.” Marianne sank through the table for a moment, emitted a fizzing sound, and returned.  
  
“Was that a—”  
  
Marianne no longer sounded slurred from being pissed, having returned to her usual pissy. “You wish. It's a Ghost thing. We should get some more of this stuff, get some in Grace. We could see if one will get her done, and if she makes that sound to sober up, too.”  
  
“If it's a ghost thing then—”  
  
“She's got Ghost in her. That's why she and I get along so damn well. That's good. You want that in her. She makes for a pretty good Ghost, despite that Psychic handicap.”  
  
“Maybe it's this stuff,” James tapped his bottle, “but I'm not following you.”  
  
“We've got a thing about us, we never give up. We can't, really. I ran out of energy to hold my form when the renters that the bank stuck in our house ran off with everything that wasn't nailed down and didn't smell like their own sweaty asses. But, that doesn't mean I died; I was in limbo, I think. It's weird, when time stands still and runs faster than you can understand at the same time, whatever I mean by that. I guess it's like being asleep. Harvey tried forever to explain what it was like for him, to sleep peacefully without nightmares, because he wanted me to know what he was thankful to me for, but I never understood it enough that I felt like I could compare it exactly to anything I know.” She lowered her face into her still-sealed bottle and took a long sip. Withdrawing, she glanced at her reflection in the dark kitchen window. “I guess there is no rest for the wicked.” She shook herself up. “That's not my point. My point is, I think Grace has a Ghost's spirit, and that it's a good one. She'll haunt him, for his benefit—as she understands it—no matter what. And if she died, well, I don't know how it works with a cross breed, but if she goes into ghost limbo, she'll still be following him, and finding little ways to help him along, even without a body, as long as he keeps her in his mind, making his energy available to her.”  
  
“I don't think energy is all he's been making available to her.”  
  
Marianne slid her bottle aside and drifted forward near the table's center and stared at James until he noticed. “Speaking as a pokemon who fell in love with a human, back in the old times when that really meant something, Joe's not the one who could get hurt here. I don't mean getting accused of abusing her, or breaking your human taboos about drawing lines between You and Us; I mean hurt. Pokemon are different from humans because our natural impulse is to serve another. A pokemon could have enough power to raze a city and kill thousands in an afternoon and be found playing hopscotch on a playground with its preschooler trainer. Think about it like this: when humans break up, who gets hurt? If both feel like a Master, they feel that they each dismissed the other one. If both feel like servants, they say it was mutual and move on. When one is the Master and the other the subservient, the latter is the one that gets a broken heart. Even if that's the one that caused the break-up, and the only one who saw their relationship that way. Excuse me.”  
  
Marianne finished her bottle and gargled its fluid before speaking again.  
  
“As long as he accepts her as she accepts him, they'll both be fine. It won't matter if someday they're doing the wild thing morning, noon, and night; or if he gets married to a nice little human lady and Grace's role is—let's say—supportive. But, if someone like you forces him into the role of a Master, she'll be positioned to get hurt, and he won't really be any better off.”  
  
The mismagius turned to face away from James, raising her voice significantly. “And that's why Grace needs to quit squatting on the bucket and get busy joining her trainer inside a good dream before any bitchy spectres show up and eat it.” A faint flash belied Grace's teleport. “I hope it was yellow since she left it to mellow.”  
  
James smirked and finished his own bottle. “How long?”  
  
She would have coughed, could she. “I'm too drunk to choose a retort for that.”  
  
“Grace is confused, about her role, and she's guessing. And, making bad assumptions. I still feel it's wrong.”  
  
Marianne collected their bottles and adjusted the subject of conversation. “That the one who gives is the one who suffers? That's simply how it goes.” James sat in thought for a moment. Marianne drifted up against his shoulder and spoke low, to be certain that no one would overhear. “That woman hurt you, and you became a solitary Master to escape the pain. Only, that strategy doesn't work, does it?”  
  
“She was hurting both him and me.”  
  
“First she hurt,” Marianne glanced upward and to the south side of the kitchen, “ ‘that.’ Then, after you removed that problem, after a while she started hurting both of you.”  
  
“ ‘That’ was out getting out of hand, but it was only making the problem a bigger issue. After that though, it was like she had to hurt somebody else, instead.”  
  
“Some of Us get bound to trainers like her, and when we do, sometimes we can't get out of it so easily. Please, consider that when you see a pokemon trying to grab the brass ring when one comes around, and if those taboos come to mind, just think about what the trainer is doing for his pokemon before thinking about what he is doing to his pokemon. There are a lot of times when it's wrong. A lot. But not always. Once in a while, We look beyond the almost complete lack of strength and ability, and the funny smell your kind leaves on everything you touch, and choose to rub up against a human whose soul is worth getting intimate with.”  
  
“I think I've heard enough. Goodnight. Don't follow me.” James retired to his bedroom.  
  
Marianne floated into the laundry room, rested her necklace on a wooden clothes hanger, and relaxed, dangling freely as her cohesion balanced the weak gravitational force that pulled her essence downward against a turbulent sea of air. She let the alcohol she had accumulated disperse within her and prepared to pass out after a few seconds. Aside from being fainted or narcotized in combat, it was the closest she could come to sleep. Although it was not a true sleep, her intoxicated mind suffered delusions like a dream, and those dreams of hers were always pleasant.  
  


* * *

  
Shortly after awakening the next morning, Burner stood tall, his feathers slightly fluffed-up with excitement.  
  
Grace's pose was more relaxed. She leaned over Joe's shoulder as he poked at the touch screen of his trainer's device, letting his cereal get mushy while it waited for him to come back to it. “You don't have to do it for me, too, Joe. I don't need—”  
  
“It's the right thing to do. I told Burner the prizes he earns are his; you've won a few at the gym, too, so that money is yours.”  
  
After some further fumbling in options menus, Joe got his T.D. to a screen where Burner and Grace could input pass-codes to access their sub-accounts. In the living room, the commercial that had alerted Burner to such an opportunity aired again. Of course, it wanted trainers to assign all of their post-season League account funds to their pokemon so they could benefit from the most savings through maximum expenditure. Burner ran over to see it again, and realized that a critical component of his plan was his getting to Linalool Mall. While Joe finished his breakfast and prepared to leave for school, Burner and Grace teamed up against the T.D. to figure out how to access local bus schedules.  
  
Still on his normal timetable, James awoke just as Joe was about to leave, with Burner coming along to be sure that Joe made a strong debut at high school. He bid them farewell and passed up the bathroom to hit the kitchen first instead. He smelled coffee.  
  
“Brewing up a pot for me? I told you not to read my mind, Grace.”  
  
“Ja—Master James, I didn't, I sw—”  
  
“I'm kidding; but fix a mug of that and send it my way.” He slipped back into the same chair he sat in the night before. She put extra cream in his and set it before him while she took a seat for herself. “Extra cream wasn't a guess. I told you not—”  
  
“That's not fair!” She swirled her mug gently and gazed into it. “You made me feel you wanted extra cream, so—”  
  
James smirked and leaned back a bit.  
  
Grace turned her head a little sideways.  
  
James took a drink. “This is a little funny; I can see now why Marianne likes messing with us so much.”  
  
Grace sipped gently. “You're not taking lessons from her, are you?”  
  
“No. She isn't a very good teacher, if I were.”  
  
“Then, what are you taking from her? Last night; that isn't something you do with someone who you don't get along with, like she's been making it look like for Joe, Burner, and me. And the thing about the door; what she told you isn't exactly the whole truth.”  
  
James raised his hand to guard against her perhaps elaborating. “Of course it's not. There's always more to it when it involves one of you girls. Including Alice, I learned last night. I'm getting used to it, though.”  
  
“Well, whatever is going on, I don't know if you can imagine how it feels for a psychic to be kept in the dark about people they know and care about.”  
  
“You use the word when you address me, but I'm not your master. You don't need to care about me.”  
  
“Yes, I do, and you're avoiding my question.” She took another sip from her mug.  
  
James breathed deeply. “Do you want to be in your ball until Joe lets you out?”  
  
Grace cringed with a start, and reached for a napkin to wipe her cheek and chin as some of the coffee in her mouth escaped. She felt a thousand things she wanted to say, but the only acceptable option was: “No.”  
  
They drank in silence until each was half-finished. James prodded. “Why not? You want to push this matter, so push it. So what if I put you in your ball? Have you got big plans between now and when my son gets home?”  
  
“Yes, Master James. I am going to flip his mattress, launder his sheets, and prepare a light meal for when he returns so he can eat and tell me about his big first day.”  
  
James squinted one eye. “Tell you? You wouldn't rather read it off of him?”  
  
Grace blushed. “Yes, but, it's better to let him decide what he wants me to hear about and how he wants me to hear it; that's a little bit of advice my mother gave me during our last, uh, connection. Besides, I can always fish for details when he lets me hold him later on.”  
  
James shifted uncomfortably. “Did she give you a lot of advice?”  
  
“I don't know. It only seems to come up when I need it.”  
  
“Hmm.” James drank some more. “Anyway, you'd rather do housework than bully me into talking about something I don't want to talk about?”  
  
“I'd rather do both, but you made me decide.” Grace rose and washed out her mug, setting it aside to air dry.  
  
James called out to her as she floated away. “Did you think I'd really do it?”  
  
Grace's momentum turned into a turn about, and she transfixed him with a slight glare in her stare. “Lock me in my ball for trying to find out why you trust that two-faced ‘shrieking hell-beast’—your words—more than me, someone who has wanted nothing but the best for the members of the family that saved her from a fate that was bad enough that my mother sacrificed her life?” Grace's expression shifted in a fluid way, as though she asked herself that question and was not sure how she knew the answer. Her voice broke up slightly. “Yes. You would. In a heartbeat. I can see it in you.”  
  
“I told you not to read my mind, Grace.”  
  
“I—I don't have to. You project it, without trying to.” She coasted away to tend to Joe's linens.  
  
Marianne drifted into the kitchen with an unsteady trajectory. The ghost emitted a faint wail as it passed over and somewhat into the coffee pot.  
  
James followed, wrestled the pot away from the fog, and refilled his mug. “I think you were right about her.”  
  
Marianne reclaimed the pot. “Good. Now, cut her some fucking slack. I'm going to finish this off, make another fizzing sound, and meet you when it's time to go for your appointment.”  
  
“Don't follow me.”  
  
“Ooookay.” Marianne and the coffee pot faded invisible, although her wide smile seemed to linger a little.  
  
James waited and gently felt the air around him with his free hand. After a few swipes he felt a cool patch of turbulence. “Ghost.”  
  
“Consider yourself haunted. Now, go cut her some slack like I told you to.”  
  
James stood in Joe's bedroom doorway and watched Grace deliberately ignore his presence while guiding Joe's mattress back onto its box-springs. As it rested, she twitched with a start as she felt his intention to approach and seize her. She turned half his way when his palms landed on her shoulders.  
  
“I'm—I regret threatening you. That was wrong.” He pulled her close, into a hug, and whispered against her gills. “I thank you for your concern. For Joe, and for myself. But, I've decided how I want to handle my prob—situation, and I'm not talking about it because I don't want anyone in this house doing the things they would do if I talked about it. If you want to help me, Grace, help me with that.”  
  
Drawn so near, Grace was challenged not with resisting a temptation to probe him for answers, but to actively reject his thought patterns as they bombarded her emerald-green nodes. She did the best that she could, but his mental state could not be ignored. She felt that his somewhat-an-apology and his request were both more than sincere, and that he truly wanted her on his side.  
  
As intentional as unintentional, Grace's arms moved to return his hug. “Okay, Dad, I'll help you.” Grace's slip of formality startled her, and her leap into a capitalized pronoun doubled that shock. It distracted her enough that her focus blurred and for a moment she saw what was in his mind's eye. A complicated mess, but it featured visions of Joe as his son, and herself, not labeled as one of the family pokemon, but something akin to a daughter-in-law. That association was polluted somewhat, yet deep down he was accepting it favorably. His whole imagination was unstable; there was something logically inconsistent about the notion, that it was only fantasy. She wanted to know why but knew that she had to get a grip before he realized that she was in his head, so she focused on only his acceptance of her until she mounted her resistance again.  
  
He released her and stepped back slightly. “You got warm.”  
  
She blushed, in her cheeks and her gills. “Uh, yeah. That happens when we're happy.”  
  
“Are you happy when you are with him?”  
  
“Always, Master James. Whe—”  
  
James put his index finger over her mouth. “It's okay. You can say ‘Dad.’ ”  
  
James left. As he passed into the living room, he suddenly felt a sensation like he had coughed and sent a droplet of cold coffee up the back of his nose.  
  


* * *

  
Burner slipped inside Rennin's Pokemart and rather nervously approached the counter when no customers stood in the way. “Excuse me. I wanted to take a bus, but they said I had to buy a pass here.”  
  
Ned checked to both sides of the blaziken, somewhat crouched before him as his face would be hidden behind the cigarette dispenser awning above the counter otherwise. “No trainer?”  
  
“Yes, but he's in school. I have money in this.” Burner placed Joe's T.D. on the counter.  
  
Ned took it, flipped it open, and poked at the screen a few times. “Shiny gardevoir. I remember him. Two fully-evolved pokemon in his first year; he didn't waste much time. Okay, he cleared you for discretionary purchases but not travel, so technically your trainer has to be here to authorize giving you a card acceptable for public transportation. But I heard about that sale at the mall.” He scanned the T.D. and a generic money card before handing both back. “I only put enough on there to get you to Linalool and back and you can't re-load this card, so keep your beak shut and neither of us will get into any trouble.”  
  


* * *

  
Coach declared that having physical education at the start of the day was a fortunate turn; get that blood pumping for the rest of the classes. He was alone in his opinion. Despite the first half of the period being consumed by clerical tasks, such as passing out a one-sheet syllabus and being assigned lockers, Coach was sure to pack in as much running around the basketball court as possible during his remaining minutes. In the locker room, one of the students noticed and asked about a broad, deep bruise around Joe's navel as he switched back into his school uniform shirt.  
  
“What? Oh, yeah. I got hurt by one of my pokemon yesterday.”  
  
Another student leaned across a bank of lockers from the other side. “That blaziken I saw you with this morning? If you were sparring for fun, accidents happen, but if he's getting rough with you, you need to discipline him fast.” He returned to his side and continued. “If your pokemon loses respect for you, you're done.”  
  
Joe finished restoring his uniform's configuration. “No, no, he's fine. He wasn't the one that hurt me.”  
  
Terrance happened to be in the same class, and gestured at Joe a warning to shut up.  
  
The bank of lockers spoke again. “Oh, what kind was it then?”  
  
Joe did not heed the warning. “Gardevoir.”  
  
A few mutterings echoed off of the tiles.  
  
“What, was he pissed off you let him evolve without a dawn stone and sucker punched you?”  
  
“No, something startled her and she accidentally—”  
  
“Hey! Rainer's got a gardevoir girlfriend!”  
  
Hoots, whistles, and laughter echoed off of the tiles for a moment, renewed when one of the chubbier kids, who by all stereotype should have been busy being the one made fun of in a locker room, held an arm out and sang with the bellowing fortitude of an opera tenor, “Syn-chro!”  
  
Coach stepped in and warned everyone that they had thirty seconds to get back to the bleachers for another hand-out and to await dismissal. On their way out, Terrance advised Joe that he should have told them that the blaziken did it.  
  


* * *

  
“THIS IS NOT YOUR POOL!”  
  
Fiona was not sure which was more painful: Marianne screaming against her skull or that the ghost was pulling her head up and out of the water by her antennae. The serpent thrashed about wildly for a quarter minute before finally shaking free of the mismagius. After a brief and futile combat, Fiona slithered away through the fence holes toward her owner's property, escorted by the Rainier's security guard. Once there, she rested her head and a length of her neck in a shallow plastic basin with a few centimeters of water in it beneath some shade and coiled her body tightly behind it.  
  
Sam was tending to Mrs. Finnegan's garden, which he never really stopped improving after the day he and Burner ravaged it, and gave Fiona a blast from a hose, which she appeared to appreciate.  
  
Marianne complained. “Did your home-boy put any forethought into this before getting her, much less letting her squirm around the neighborhood while he's at school?”  
  
Kinking the hose to halt its flow for a moment, Sam reattached it to a small sprinkler near the little pool for Fiona's benefit. “I don't think so. Letting her roam, though, was not his action; I released her.”  
  
“Aren't you a revolutionary?” She molested the yellow bulbs on his upper back. “How about you keep a closer eye on her, then?”  
  
“Was she causing trouble?” Sam asked.  
  
“Not yet, but if she was caught in the wild, then she hasn't been trained not to shit in my pool water, and if I have to scoop a dookie I'm going to bring it over here and smear it somewhere impo—”  
  
She was cut off by a thunderclap that knocked her out of the air.  
  
Frankie advanced with deliberate pace, still carrying a massive charge.  
  
Marianne's necklace rose from the grass as her essence returned to its normal configuration. “See, Sam? People don't take kindly to trespassers.” She quickly escaped the Finnegan's back yard, taking one more hit from a shock-wave on the way out.  
  
Recovering from the collateral damage he received, Sam hung his head and returned to his efforts while Frankie discharged his excess energies through the sprinkler head and into the damp soil around it before attending to the now-frightened and somewhat-polarized milotic, whose face was hidden by the colorful fin of her tail. She looked at him with begging eyes and—for the first time—spoke in their inhuman language: “I want to go home.”  
  


* * *

 


	11. Excesses

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 11: Excesses.

* * *

  
Linalool Mall was practically overrun with pokemon. Not only customers, but security, too. Pokemon officers were brought in from miles around to ensure that every type was covered in case of a brawl. That, purely a precautionary measure, of course. There had never been any serious incidents at these events beyond minor lacerations caused by collisions in the moving crowd involving pokemon with sharp edges. Burner spent almost an hour lurking around, watching other, more experienced pokemon shop. He realized quickly that holding his master's T.D. in his claws was probably a bad idea, and got a satchel for himself, and another, purse-like one as a gift for Grace. It was a shade of blue appropriate for both her ball and her own coloring. Next he circuited the mall with certain intent, stopping in at a shop that offered communication devices.

A sales clerk approached Burner with an air of familiarity. “Hey, I think I saw you in a gym competition over the summer. Young trainer, name started with an ‘F’ I think.”

Burner interjected a little too forcefully, taking a step toward the clerk and leaning in toward him. “He's not my master!” The blaziken straightened up again, reclaiming his calm and releasing a tiny puff of smoke from his nostrils while shifting his shoulders. “Mister Finnegan isn't my trainer. My master was not interested in a journey this year, but I wanted to fight so I traveled with a neighbor.”

Bryce was taken aback by Burner's forceful response, but realized that it was born of shock, not aggression, and let go of a remote controlled silent alarm button in his pocket. “Yes, well, uh, I guess that explains the difference in your fighting style compared to the others on that team. Well, what brings you in here today?”

“I need a phone for a pokemon.”

“Yourself?”

“No, a friend. A good friend of mine.”

Bryce grinned a little. “I know that inflection. Better than good, right?”

Burner did not need to respond to reply.

“Will you tell me her species, or at least how useful her hands, paws, or claws, are, assuming she has any?”

“Lucario.”

Bryce led Burner across the sales floor. “I know exactly what you need. Trust me.”

* * *

  
Carlos wandered around collected exhibits, giving them a third pass.

The museum's curator approached him, unnoticed until he spoke. “Like I do for all our guests, I apologize that our collection isn't expansive enough to keep a bored man distracted as long as his wait lasts.”

Carlos turned. The man extended an arm, and Carlos shook it.

“Geoffrey Sindelbock, but my first name is all you need to remember. There aren't any others on this island.”

“Carlos Velasquez. No, your exhibit is fine. But, I'm not the history type.”

Sindelbock pocketed his hands. “Really? Usually the history type is the only type we get out here. There are no interesting species of pokemon on this island, except for unusually chatty chatot on Gossip Peak, and our community tends to discourage tourism. We get a few cave divers and shell hunters and an occasional escapee from the grid, but you don't seem to be any of those types either. What brings you out here?”

Carlos realized that this was an inquisition. “A boat called The Sphinx almost six months ago. I've been living la vida beach bum all summer, until Captain Gil called my hotel room and told me to visit the museum and check out its library today. I've walked around a few times, but I don't see no library.”

“May I see your ticket?”

Carlos fished around in his pocket. The Sphinx was clearly not a passenger vessel, but his ticket had been checked by three strangers in addition to Gil since Onyx gave it to him a moment after he stepped on the boat's deck.

“Very well. The library is over here.” Sindelbock led Carlos to a small display in a corner, easily overlooked. Within the case upon clear plastic platforms stood a dagger and a raggedy notebook. “Welcome to the library. As you can see, we have only one book. Well, one title; the original and a copy.” Sindelbock withdrew the copy from behind a sliding door beneath the case's window. Sindelbock checked his watch. “It's a little hard to read, but you'll get through it in time for your departure. Just remember one thing: it's non-fiction.”

* * *

  
“I'm sorry, Blaziken, you don't have nearly enough money to buy this.”

Burner cawed low and turned away as the clerk set a jacket aside into a pile of garments to be returned to their shelves and racks.

As he exited the store, a voice projecting confidence despite a nervous undertone called out to him. “Hey you, having financial problems?” Burner turned and saw nothing at first except other pokemon minding their own business. “I'm down here.” No nervousness there, that tone was annoyed.

Burner looked downward and noticed an umbreon seated beside his feet. She wore a sort of pocketed vest with an I.D. beneath a plastic window between her shoulders. “If you're feeling a little short for a change, I could loan you some money. My master forbade me from buying him anything, and there isn't much here for a four-on-the-floor to buy for herself, so aside from visiting the theater a few more times, I'm looking for ways to splurge.”

“Uh, thank you, Umbreon, but—”

“Idis.”

“Idis. My name is Burner. Thank you, but I would need a lot more money. I spent more than I understood before I came here.”

Idis glanced at the logos printed on the plastic bags that Burner held, seeing where he had shopped. “Communications salesmen will get you every time. Please tell me they didn't get you on an automatically billed contract.”

“No, it's pre-pay only.”

Idis grinned. “Have you had anything to eat today?”

“Breakfast, but we have it very early in the morning.”

“Well, I haven't had anything at all.” She turned and took a few steps away, tail and chin held high, before glancing back. “Come along, you're going to lose me in the crowd if you don't follow me closely.” Although any glow was out-classed by the flood of illuminating panels and skylights above, her rings brightened from a medium amber to a striking yellow. Idis led Burner to the food court. He carried their food, she paid for it; a mutually beneficial situation since it saved her a perceived indignity of being served at the quadruped bar. Together they sat at a somewhat out-of-the-way table with a narrow booth on one side and a chair on the other. Burner took the chair, affording Idis to hop into the booth and enjoy her meal from almost equal eye level. “So, I understand that mathematics isn't your strong suit.”

Burner fumbled with a salt shaker. It seemed to have drawn moisture. “I haven't needed to use numbers very much. I know how to read them and what they mean, but I did not understand how quickly the number for how much money I have would get too small.” Burner rose and borrowed a salt shaker from a neighboring table.

When he sat again, Idis ventured a guess. “You inherited your speech power, right?”

The salt flowed freely. “Yes, but it didn't work when I was small.”

“There's a supplemental T.M. for what they call ‘domestic life skills’ that they started bundling with the field skill H.M.'s at centers, but if you haven't been programmed with any, then you're probably missing out on intuitive arithmetic.”

With little to contribute but to confirm that he had not been programmed with any field moves, Burner thanked her for the information and began enjoying his meal.

Idis ate carefully, not wanting to make a mess of herself, but it was somewhat inevitable. She employed a technique to trap a napkin between one fore-paw beneath it and another above so she could blot and wipe her mouth clean of any moisture or debris. “Is it good?”

Burner swallowed a bit early, and almost coughed as his latest bite went down. “Very. I'm surprised. When I was on a journey this summer, Mr. Finnegan never fed us this well.”

“Mr. Finnegan? Is that your trainer?”

“No, a neighbor. My master isn't really interested in Pokemon League.”

Idis shifted a little and lowered her voice. “Really? If you don't mind my asking, would you tell me a little more about him?”

“His name's Joe. We like to play games together at night. He doesn't really like battles, but he lets us fight at the park or the gym whenever we want to and it makes him happy when we win even though he tries not to show it too much. He's starting high school today. I wanted to surprise him and the rest of my family with gifts, but I'm out of money now.”

“Family? That's a nice word. Is it a big one?” Idis sipped through a straw in her cup while Burner replied.

“I don't think so. It's Joe; his father, James; and Grace, she's a gardevoir that Joe had before I came. I also know a lucario who I hope will join us and there is a mismagius in the attic that we all wish would go away, but they aren't really family.”

Idis leaned against the booth's back cushion and looked aside, across the bustling court. “I can tell by your voice you're happy to know them all.”

“I am.”

Idis smirked. “Even that ghost?”

“Barely.”

“Good. I was worried I might have to invite myself over and chase it away for you.”

Burner stopped eating for a moment and thought about it. “If Grace were here, she would insist.”

Idis giggled and looked at Burner through the corner of her right eye, not turning to face him. “Are you sure you don't want any money to get that jacket?”

“Your offer is very generous, but it was my mistake. It was my mistake that ruined his old jacket in the first place. I should apologize, not spend a kind stranger's money.”

Idis nursed her drink while Burner finished his lunch. At that awkward moment when everyone knows someone needs to say that it's time to part ways, Idis interjected. “Why don't you turn that phone on and scan my code? The one on my vest that they scanned so I could pay for our food. I wouldn't mind talking with you over lunch again, sometime. But, it will be your turn to pay.”

“I shouldn't do that. The telephone isn't for me, it's a gift for Alice; oh, she's the lucario I mentioned. I don't have one of my own.”

Idis glanced across the food court again. Her voice was different, but it was not from nervousness. “I see. I have to be going now; next show starts in a few minutes. I hope you don't mind clearing these trays.”

Burner hummed and gathered their mess as he stood.

Idis hopped down from the booth and trotted away, stopping before he too was gone. “Hey, they're surely going to run these sales next year. If you're shopping by yourself, keep an eye out for me, okay?”

* * *

  
“Good morning, Rennin Pokecenter. How can we help you today?”

Grace felt nothing, which disturbed her in a faint, subconscious way. “Um, hello. I need to call someone, another pokemon, but I don't have his trainer's number or full name. Is there anything you can do to help me?”

“Do you know the name and species of the pokemon you wish to contact?”

“Yes, he is an alakazam named Roscoe.”

Grace listened to receptionist's keyboard as it emitted faint taps.

“I have only one match for that description, I.D. № BW-99709/L*… wow, that's an old registration. All the numbers on-file are private, but I'm seeing a note that he does have permission to receive calls at his workplace. Shall I put you through?”

“Please!” While Grace waited, she began second-guessing her decision, but her resolve was steeled by remembering that she truly had no one else she could turn to with her questions. She had already tried her psychic help line, but it was still out of service.

“R.P.D., pokemon affairs department. Roscoe speaking.” Barely, Grace noted.

“Hi, Roscoe, I'm Grace. Can we meet somewhere soon, someplace other than the park with everyone else there? I really need someone I can trust with some… personal things. Another Psychic, you know?”

Over the background noise of many voices, telephones ringing, and someone ranting wildly in the distance, Roscoe replied hoarsely, “Rennin Center, we will share lunch at 1300.” Roscoe disconnected before Grace could reply.

Grace looked at a clock, finding a couple hours to kill on its dial. First, she poked around in Joe's closet for a dusty old boom box. Second, she battled with its antenna to get reception on a decent station. Third, she fixed a large glass of tea. After casting a foam pool lounge atop the water, Grace teleported onto it and began slathering herself with sunblock. Burn sprays' soothing sensations were not worth the pain of being burned in the first place, although there was something about letting Joe medicate her that she secretly enjoyed. As she relaxed, she started thinking about herself. Not as she knew herself, though, but through others. James especially. Mere hours ago, their relationship changed dramatically and she tried to put a finger on exactly how. The glimpse she caught saw her as something acceptable as a part, even the largest part, of Joe's life. While “acceptable” left much room for improvement, it was a sea-change from his past view that she was something to be done away with at the first plausible opportunity, on pain of corruption of his son. She took a long sip of her tea while that concept of corruption sloshed about in her mind, and while her floating seat sloshed about in the water.

Burner was not corrupting. James did not make it obvious, but she could feel it; he liked Burner. He liked Alice too. It was not simply pokemon that he was worried about. He even tolerated Marianne. She had something to do with this, too. They stayed up late drinking, and the next morning he sets his shield aside. Or, at least, his sword. Merely considering that the ghost was trying to help her brought Grace to shiver and to wonder what ulterior motive she must have. Grace considered the possibility that Marianne wanted James to trust her so she could frame Grace for something and create an irreparable fissure that could break the entire household apart. Then she considered that that might be exactly what Marianne wanted her to be thinking. Both potentials sloshed around, too, until Grace realized that the water should be far more still. She leaned up and telekinetically rotated her seat. A pattern of magenta, cyan, and ecru coiled at the deep end's bottom explained those occasional bursts of waves. “Hey,” Grace shouted against the water's surface.

A milotic's eyes burst open and she shot straight upward, breaching, arcing, twisting, and finally landing on the pool's edge in a loosely coiled heap that immediately uncoiled back into the water and thrashed as it made a second attempt at escape.

“Whoa, calm down. It's okay. You're Percival's new pokemon, aren't you?”

The serpent stopped struggling, and squinted back at Grace.

Grace sensed that she was being sized up; not that this monster intended to fight her, but rather that it was trying to figure out how badly the creature in the tiny pond's center could hurt her. Grace patted the water's surface beside her chair. “You can come over here if you would like to. Let's be friends.” She had sensed sudden suspicion before, but never was it strong enough to bring her to wince. She sipped her drink just to cover her reaction. “Please?”

Tense and fully prepared to dart away, the milotic approached slowly.

“My name is Grace. Do you have a name yet?”

“Fhhh-iii, oh, gnaah,” it voiced explicitly, gently and carefully.

“Fiona? I think that sounds pretty. Can you talk like humans can? Or,” Grace continued in her native tongue, “only like pokemon do?”

Fiona seemed somewhat relieved by the switch, but retained her gentle and careful manner. “I do not understand, you, like humans?”

“That's okay, I'll try telepathy,” Grace took a breath and closed her eyes for a moment, then stared into Fiona's. “Can you hear and understand me now?”

Fiona's response was a building sensation of panic.

“Don't be afraid; please, relax. I'm not going to hurt you, I just wanted to be sure you can understand me. Okay?”

Fiona remained nervous.

“I wanted to ask you if you can talk with humans like your friend, Sam, or only with other pokemon, like your friend, Frankie.”

Fiona winced and shook her head. Grace released her connection. Fiona replied aloud, “Like Frankie. I do not like humans. I do not understand, you like humans?”

Grace began to unravel Fiona's confusion; so accustomed now to speaking with humans, she was making mistakes in her old tongue. She tried again, being more careful to phrase her sentences like a wild pokemon would. “Yes, my best friend is human. Some humans are not friendly, but I am friends with ones that are.”

The milotic seemed vaguely doubtful.

“I can show you if you would like to see.” Grace reached out toward Fiona, who dove, flipped, and darted to the pool's far edge, escaping its waters and slithering through a hole in the fence. Drenched from Fiona's splashing wake, Grace blindly reached for her tea when Fiona's tail fin slapped the fence's slats, but she grasped nothing resting in her chair's cup holder. She looked to her side and saw why.

Marianne slurped up half of the tea remaining in the cup. “This is too strong, and also not strong enough. You half-ass everything. Even that. If you're going to grab her by her antennas, you gotta be faster. At least the threat was enough to send her home.”

Grace held out a palm and snatched her glass away telepathically, which took two tugs; the first was not strong enough as she forgot to compensate for having to reach through and pull through a semi-solid fog. “Is that what happened out here earlier? The screaming, the splashing, the thunderclaps I heard happening on the other end of the block?”

A slice of lemon emerged from within Marianne's mouth. She sucked it dry of its juices and spat its ruined rind into Grace's cup. “Funny, I expected you would have a less accommodating opinion of outsider pokemon coming in and making themselves at home.”

Grace plucked out the lemon rind and flicked it away, landing near the radio. “Yech. That depends on whether or not they show respect and manners. You do neither, by the way.”

Marianne slowly gestured with a tendril, “If you will look to your right, you will see a floating lump of respect and manners your fishy friend left behind. What's the phrase, ‘Haste makes waste’? Of course, you get off easy since you can skim it without touching it with anything, but I'll still count this as a win for my perspective of un-trained pokemon abusing your masters' property.” She chuckled as she floated away, while Grace used her powers to glide herself and the deposit in different directions. “Don't forget to double the chlorine level before you go off on your little lunch date behind Joe's back.”

* * *

  
Gil changed directions again. It was at least the eleventh time he had done it since The Sphinx left Hollingsmoth Island.

Carlos approached the captain, gripping anything nearby for support. He was not a fan of water, moving quickly, or being in the middle of nowhere. “I don't know much about boating, but why do you keep turning around?”

The captain puffed on his pipe. “Because he wants me to.”

“He?”

“The Gatekeeper, we call him sometimes. He and his wife own this tract of water. Of course, it's too big of a job for anything less than a dozen of 'em, but they keep most of the unscheduled travel under control. See these?” Gil pointed out three small red crystals mounted clumsily behind the wheel. “And, how the middle one looks a little brighter? That means we're on track. If one on the side lights up more, we turn. If all three glow full, we stop and wait for our second inspection.”

“Second inspection? I don't remember anyone telling me about being inspected. What's to inspect?”

“You. First couple times you failed preliminary, but I guess it finally clicked.”

Carlos was not sure what might need clicking, but was sure that the red crystals were beginning to glow despite the shade cast over them by the canopy above.

Gil cut the power and let his boat glide to a stop. “Do you need to use the head?”

“What?”

“Toilet, land-lubber. The Gatekeeper gets off on makin' a flashy entrance, and even though I warn folk about that, sometimes they can't help but cut one loose anyway.”

* * *

  
A panel made of scrap plywood vanished from a hole where a window used to be. “Burner?”

At ground level below, a blaziken hesitated as it looked at a door that once was his home's. Like the window above, it too was longing for replacement glass. He stepped backwards from the porch and saw Alice leaning out above him.

“You flatter me, B! I could feel your aura reaching out to mine. Here, see if the old knob actually works, and come on up!” She tossed a small rusted key-ring down to Burner. He came inside with his purchases and locked the door behind himself. The foyer was still dark and distressed, with creaking floor boards that released musty smells when stepped on. The second floor was also unchanged. One trail of Alice's paw prints were the only evidence anyone had stepped foot on the dusty boards since its last human owner resided there. The final step of the stairs was also that world's edge. The top floor looked like it was grafted from a fine hotel. Its walls were clean and freshly painted. Between each door hung crude but interesting paintings. One still bore a little green sticker from the yard sale at which it was purchased. A layer of carpeting was not particularly soft, but it looked nice, and had been crafted so the hallway's floor had a colored border around its edges. Visibility was poor, since there was no internal lighting except what came through a few strategically opened windows and doors. That was enough to see by, but only barely.

“Well, what do you think?”

Burner turned about to face Alice just in time to catch her as she hopped up into his arms. They shared a brief kiss and nuzzle before he set her down again.

“Come on, you've probably been on your feet all summer, and I didn't really get to welcome you back last night.” Alice led him into their room.

It was much improved, excepting the glassless window. She had a proper bed now. A box spring and mattress rested on bricks, matching its height to an orphaned part of a sectional couch at the foot of the bed; an accommodation for his stature Burner realized as he set down his purchases beside an old desk along the wall that looked and smelled like it was native to the house. Alice poured half of a can of lemonade into a cup, sprinkled it with salt, and brought it to Burner, ordering him to get face-down on her bed as soon as he finished his drink while she turned on faint atmospheric music and sipped at the other half. Following instruction, Burner set his empty cup on the desk and crawled onto her bed, Alice climbing over the sectional component right behind him.

Burner manhandled her pillow somewhat as he positioned it for his comfort. “You really don't have to—ow!”

Alice dug her elbow into a spot below his right shoulder. “Yeah, your aura was telling me that spot's too tight.”

Burner groaned as she began massaging him. “You can sense that from my aura?”

“Ha, not really. But the way you turned when you were looking around the hallway—which I thank you for noticing because it took a lot of work—showed me you weren't twisting freely.”

Burner trilled softly as he felt her paws work him over. “Alice, you said something like that about how Grace was walking that one day, didn't you?”

“Yep. When I was little I learned to watch people. My riolu aura sense was only enough to know what was going on around me, it didn't tell me about the auras I felt unless I concentrated hard or got really close. We also ran into some bad people sometimes. I told Daddy about how some people seemed to walk or stand differently if they were strong or weak or nice or mean. He found a book about it at a library and we spent all day reading it together. Everyone I've met after that, I've watched how they stand and walk to figure out what kind of person they are. That's why I decided to play with you at the park. I knew you were someone I would be proud to walk with.”

It boosted his ego, although not to excess, to hear her say that. He felt a drive inside him to make his trainer proud of him, and he felt successful at that, but it was his trainer, so Joe had an vested interest in Burner just by virtue of being Burner's master. Alice was a free, independent soul. One who had chosen him, invested herself in him willingly, and too was proud of her relationship with him.

He made a happy birdie sound into her pillow, making Alice giggle. He was finally relaxed enough mentally for his body to appreciate her ministrations.

* * *

  
Carlos felt a reaction opposite of what he was warned about. If he could have formed the thought coherently despite a tide of adrenaline coursing through him, he would have wondered if he would ever be able to un-tighten his rectum enough to ever shit again. A cascade of water, blinding white as its innumerable droplet composition shimmered in the sunlight, fell upon him, knocking him off balance before The Sphinx dropped away beneath him, letting him fall sideways onto the deck. When he recovered he realized that he truly did see what he thought he saw burst from the ocean. Near his right arm, draped over the entire width of the boat's bow, four titanic white digits; a fifth must be hanging overboard. A glance to his left saw something much the same covering the stern. His head and body were firmly turned by a force not his own, directing his view to a face that terminated a long, arching neck that hung over the boat from a massive oval body, white as snow except for a large patch of cobalt on its belly.

In all of his years as a journeying trainer plus a short time trying to make the leap from badge-proven to League-qualified, and working with innumerable pokemon species as he bounced from job to job afterward, he had never seen a pokemon so large as this, and he prayed that if he survived, he would never meet one any larger.

“My wife would take offense to that sentiment, Human Velasquez,” Carlos felt echo in his mind so loud that it obliterated any other internal monologues that might be vying for conscious contemplation.

A splash near the boat produced another lugia, only about five feet tall at its shoulders when it landed on the deck. It ran directly toward the captain with its arm-like wings extended wide. “Uncle Gil!” everyone heard inside their heads, the young creature not bothering to direct its telepathy.

“Junior! I know I say this every time but—oof!” the (relatively) small pokemon crashed into the captain, wrapped his body with both wings and his neck, and lifted him up and around in a twirl, “you get bigger every time I see you. Won't be long, you won't be able to fit in the lower decks and use my soda fountain.”

Junior looked genuinely shattered by that realization.

“So you better get down there and use it while you still can.”

It took no more than three seconds for Junior to dash to the hatch and begin squirming his way inside, the frame of the entrance pressing salt water from Junior's feathers.

Gil turned toward his passenger. “Well, if you haven't figured it out, this little fellow—” Gil thrust a thumb at the lugia looming above them, “is the gatekeeper you heard about. And, before we move on to our next port of call, you need to have certain information kind of, adjusted, in your mind. Are you familiar with the process for applying a technical machine to a pokemon?”

Carlos tried to rise to his feet, and felt them yanked out from beneath him. Another force laid him flat on the deck as the lugia loomed closer and Gil walked near his left foot. “Uh… y—yes, I am.”

“Good, because that's about close to what he's gonna to do to you.”

* * *

  
“But, do you FEEL like a blue gar-devver?” The little girl was quite persistent.

“Yes, because that's what I am. But, I sorta know how my mother felt because she shared a lot of her thoughts and feelings with me, and they weren't any more green than mine are blue.” Grace knew that people on the street always gave her some attention because of her hue, but none had the audacity to actually ask about it. None but this wild child.

“Sometimes when I feel sad or something, I close my eyes like this—” the girl exaggerated the gesture somewhat “—and pretend I'm somebody else and that makes me feel like them, I think. Do you ever close your eyes and pretend you're somebody else?”

Grace thought for a moment. “Actually, I did have a dream, a few times, where I was someone else, somewhere else. I was still me, but I was green, and I was acting—”

A voice called out from just outside Rennin Pokecenter's lobby seating. “Grace!” Both the gardevoir and the young human turned and came to attention. “Time to go!”

The girl hopped to her feet. “Coming, Mommy! Goodbye, Miss Gar-devver!” She waved in a manner befitting her age and scampered away.

Grace settled back into her seat, at least as well has her anatomy would allow. She intended to close her eyes and pretend she were someone else, but a sudden shock-wave of psychic energy got her attention. Roscoe emerged from the teleportation room with a large paper sack in his hands. As he sat beside her, opening his bag and fishing for their lunches, he re-established a telepathic link they still occasionally used while sparring.

“I'm ready. Show me what is bothering you.” Roscoe unwrapped a cheeseburger.

“I'd rather just talk it out, Roscoe, if that's okay. It's about Joe and me. We've been doing some things together, and I'm not sure if it's okay.”

The alakazam thought with his mouth full. “Have you been defying your doubts, or are they nascent?”

Grace needed a moment for her lexicon to recognize the new word. “Yeah, that. When I evolved and started growing these things,” Grace wiggled her gills, “I noticed that when he touched them, I felt good. Very good. I thought it was like how I can touch the sides of his head and feel his mind, but then I learned that when other things touch them, especially cleaning sprays, they hurt bad. Very bad. So, I started asking him to touch them, and every time we did a little more, and after a while it was making me feel strange all over my body.”

Roscoe paused and narrowed his eyes mid-bite. “I'm familiar with your species' physiology. Did your body's reaction frighten him?”

“No, but we were synchronized at that moment so, you know. I think I hurt him with my,” Grace turned to half-glance behind herself at the green thing pressed into the back of her chair, her—

“Dorsal medial psionic attunement antenna,” Roscoe specified. “It's commonly the most inconvenient of the six when a gardevoir lives in a human habitat.”

Grace cocked her head sideways, “Six?” and started on a burger of her own.

“The root structure of the four cranial nodes you had during your development remain. With your heightened powers, their roots are enough structure to retain limited function. Your six gills each connect to one of those antennae. Because the gallade form of your species re-purposes itself for combat, their medial nodes work like a local hub for bodily muscles and nerves to have faster reaction times and precise co-ordination. They connect to their nervous systems instead of their brains, however, so the lower pair of gills become practically vestigial, fail to develop, and a gallade's psychic powers are limited to what those four cranial roots can provide.”

Grace considered what he illustrated with a little supplemental mental imagery. “So, is that why these things are so sensitive?”

“If chemicals burn your gills, that sensation applies to your nodes, causing you to feel it burn psychically as well as physically. On the other hand, if someone you love is washing your antennae with positive emotions and gently stimulating your gills, those sensations amplify each other.”

“Really? All I knew was that it felt really, really good when he touched them, and that he wasn't enjoying it. I mean, he was a little happy, because obviously it felt great to me and I let it show, but he wasn't getting anything. What kinda drove it home was when we were watching T.V., and saw a show where one of the jokes was about a guy whose cat was always demanding to be petted, causing problems and making him get annoyed. It reminded Joe of me. It was just for a second and he laughed it off with a faint chuckle, but he thought of me like a pet and I felt him think it and it was stuck in my mind all night long. I felt so selfish, and I realized that Joe could think of me as anything—a pet, a servant, a slave, a toy to play pokemon battle dungeon with—and I'd be okay with… well, I could accept it; anything but selfish. My mother died and Joe took on a new level of responsibility to give me everything I now have, and I refuse to let myself look ungrateful like that. So, I started trying to give him the feeling he was giving me. It took a few tries, but then he was getting to feel good too, and I started feeling more, because since I was giving him some of the sensation, I could go further each time, exploring the feeling knowing if it got to be too much I could push more onto him for a moment and settle myself down.” Grace set the remaining half of her hamburger down and brought her hands together, linking digits in her lap. “But last time, I couldn't stop it. It just took off and when I tried to share it to slow it down, I think it caused him to have the run-away feeling too.”

“You were synchronized and you don't know?”

“No, it happened really fast and some stupid flygon from the parcel service rang the doorbell. It almost startled me to death; when I jumped I accidentally bruised him with my, uh, dorsal medium antenna thingy, and then I kinda broke the door when I went to answer it.”

Roscoe paused again. Grace felt a jolt through her mind like a blinding flash. Roscoe continued eating. “That could have gone much worse.”

“Yeah. After that, Joe was nervous and very short with me and took a shower to relax a little. We kinda talked about it but I don't know if we reached the right compromise. He seemed okay afterward, but I have a feeling inside like we shouldn't do that anymore, at least until I can control it. But, I also really want to. The way it felt…” Grace's attention drifted for a second, then she busied herself with her hamburger.

“Trying to control it won't work; loss of control is the essence of that experience.” Roscoe leaned back in his seat, drew out his spoons, and slowly rubbed them together. “You are right. What you are doing is not harmful, physiologically speaking. Humans are very slow to develop, compared to us, but he is entering a developmental period when those sensations become enjoyable. Nonetheless, it is wrong that you solicit him for stimulation prematurely. I realize that you have created your primary bond with his mind and you also seek him as your life-companion, so you crave his thoughts and his touch equally. Both are a gift you should appreciate when he lends them to you. He is now aware of how much you enjoy his attention; don't be greedy and demand more than he wishes to provide, or force on him sensations that he is not yet fully prepared for. You know him well enough to know how much is too much, and that is why this too-much you've taken has upset you.”

Grace sat in silence for a half minute before speaking again. “Thank you, Roscoe, very much, for the food and for listening.”

Roscoe sheathed his spoons and startled her by forcing a new link as he walked away toward the teleportation room. “I spend so many of my days seeing the aftermath of mistakes, I am honored to be given a chance to help someone maybe avoid making them.” With that, Roscoe was gone.

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
A small travel alarm clock sounded. Burner hardly responded until after Alice turned it off and started playing with the feathers on his chest.

“I told you you'd fall asleep after I took care of you, mister I'm just going to rest my eyes for a couple minutes.”

Burner realized that his constitution had failed him, and that daylight was waning. “I'm sorry. I didn't ruin your plans for today, did I?”

“Burner! You made my afternoon. You were gone all summer long and when I finally got to see you again, it was after I almost blasted you through one of the walls downstairs.” She snuggled against his body as tightly as she safely could. “After months apart, this, right now, is the way we were supposed to get together again.” After a moment, she asked Burner to hand her the clock. She advanced the alarm time by about an hour and armed it again. Then, she laid him back down and herself with him.

Burner questioned if this was how they were supposed to meet again, specifically, the physical arrangement. Her best attempt to press against him was spoiled by her spike. He thought back to times they had gotten close, and realized that she almost always faced him, despite her chest spike; something she did not have when she was a riolu. “Alice, Let's lie a little differently. Face away from me, like when you evolved.”

Alice turned somewhat reluctantly and muttered his name as he pulled and pushed on her limbs and body until finally she felt his strong arms take her up and pull her in against his chest. His feathers seemed to fluff up slightly providing a warm and plush layer between her body and his firm muscles. She realized that this way, he could hold her close without any of her points digging into his flesh or damaging the bedding.

“This—this is nice, too. Burner?” she whispered.

“Alice?”

“Never stop loving me.”

He cooed faintly and shifted slightly, perfecting their fit. With the aid of her aura sensors, lifted slightly and surrounded by his fluffy mane, Alice felt Burner fall asleep without a single concern on his mind, and a spark of envy in her own a second later. Then, two seconds of embarrassment. Three seconds realizing that she was why he felt that way, four seconds realizing that he was why she should feel that way. Five seconds later, fifteen in total, she too was asleep in absolute peace.

When Alice's alarm roused them a second time, only fading twilight and one precocious street lamp illuminated their room. Burner realized that Joe might be getting worried that his pokemon failed to return from its day trip. He stretched as he got to his feet, feeling much more loose and limber. Alice was slower to rise and fumble for a light, her body protesting a sudden absence of the comfort it was enjoying.

“Oh, I forgot. I got you a gift today.” Burner sifted through his bags and presented Alice with her new phone.

“Burner, you—really, just for me?”

“The salesman said this model is popular with physically active human-shape pokemon because it's the right size for a small, tough holster that you can wear tight near your ankle or wrist so it won't get in your way and you won't need a purse or bag. I got the holster for you, too.” He produced both the telephone and its strap, offering them to her as she turned to a seated posture on their bed. “Because they have to register it to a human, technically it's under Joe's name since I belong to him. So, when you need more minutes let me know and I can buy them with my money through his account.”

“Oh, wait, no, B, I don't want to be spending your money like that. This is too much already.”

“I did spend most of my money today. But, I wanted to spend it on my family. Please accept my gift to you.”

Alice sliced through the plastic packaging with a spike and tried her telephone holster on at a few places, unsure which would become her preference. “Burner, you don't know what this means to me.” Burner would have blushed if redness of flesh could be a visible change on his face. “I mean it, Burner. To see my daddy, I have to be ready at a moment's notice. Until now, I haven't been able to get called when there's a chance. Now, I can give them my number in the morning and—it could be as soon as tomorrow afternoon if I'm lucky!” She channeled her excitement into practically dragging Burner downstairs. “Come on, let's go to your place. I'll fix you all something nice to eat.”

* * *

  
Gil slowed up as he approached a thing known only as “the buoy” to the few who knew about it at all. Its name was fitting since that is what it looked like—a large conical buoy, colored yellow with a “6-A” stencil painted on its face. “I'm ready,” he thought to himself, and with absolute faith, he stepped off of his boat into the air beyond it, walking aloft until he stood on the buoy, screwed in its yellow light bulb atop, opened a door to its conical body, and stepped inside.

Within the cabin, Junior quit concentrating on telekinetically supporting Gil's stride and returned his attention to a game of dice he was playing with Carlos. Slurping at his fifth bucket of soda that afternoon, Junior replaced five dice into a cup and cast them out with his mind. “I told you, I'm not cheating!”

Carlos knew he had now caught him. “You wouldn't know that I was thinking you were cheating without reading my mind.”

Junior grunted and bowed his head. “Sorry, Mr. Velasquez,” he projected.

“Promise you won't do it again and you're forgiven. And give me back that candy bar since you probably didn't earn it.”

Junior slid it across the table before popping one of his own candy cheques into his mouth. It had peanuts, which was a flavor worth losing a bit of his bankroll for.

Carlos took the cup and rolled a set of dice for himself. “I can't believe this. I'm actually sitting here, face to face, with a lugia. Don't take this the wrong way, I don't mean anything personal by it, but what I wouldn't do to have a master ball in my pocket right now.”

Junior raised and re-rolled three. “If you weren't going on your trip today, and you only wanted to have a lugia capture on your League record to make you proud and feel better, you wouldn't need a master ball. I'd let you catch me for a moment with whatever ball you liked.”

“Really?” Carlos said incredulously as he rolled two. He missed his straight.

Junior won, fair-and-square this time, and collected four candies. “To make you feel better.”

“I don't know if it would make me feel better. What if it was a master ball? I wouldn't feel better to take you away from your family, but it would seem like a waste of a rare product to release you.”

The lugia started sucking on a jawbreaker. “I would open it if you didn't.”

Carlos lowered his eyebrows as the pokemon anted and re-cupped his dice. “I said, ‘master ball.’ That's a ball that—”

“—can capture any pokemon. They don't admit it because it's bad for advertising, but a very powerful pokemon can still break out.”

“Bullshit! I work for a guy whose whole life has been dealing with pokemon, including legendary species. Master balls don't break.”

Junior ate his ante and replaced it with a different candy. “The old man, right? He always owes Father a favor or two. When I told Father I wanted to come with him to the surface and meet his human friends, he got some master balls from the old man and, with Uncle Gil's help, used them on me after teaching me how to break them. The first time was hard. I was in it for fifteen months and was really sick when I got out. Mom was mad about it but Dad insisted. Once I felt better he got me put in another one. That one I got out of in about three weeks. The third time felt easy because I understood what I was doing. I broke it after about twenty seconds. Father said that would be good enough as long as I didn't fly away someplace where he and Mom couldn't protect me without hurting people who might accidentally get in their way.”

Now, Carlos wanted to trap Junior just to see a master ball be broken before his own eyes.

Junior raised his left wing and concentrated; Gil was ready to return to his ship.

The Sphinx came under its own power and started to move toward the co-ordinates that Gil received. Junior got one last refill and exited the cabin behind Carlos, and commented inside the minds of both humans, still not bothering to direct his projections, “Are you unhappy because no one told you goodbye?”

Carlos turned, and asked, “What?”

Junior wrapped his wings around Carlos, who stood with his arms warily held out to his sides, not sure what to do with them. A gentle force guided them until they wrapped around the small lugia, sliding between and meeting within the spikes arrayed on his back. “Don't be unhappy. Even if they didn't or couldn't tell you goodbye, your friends remember you, and they'll be happy to see you when it's time for you to be with them again.” Junior did not mind that Carlos let their contact linger long enough to seem awkward, and once released, Junior dove into the water without hesitating or looking back.

Gil approached Carlos, lighting his pipe anew. “That kid's got his mother's intuition, his father's power, and most importantly, neither of their tempers. He's going to make a great gatekeeper one day, in about a hundred years.”

Carlos turned with a strange expression to look at the old salt as he walked away, headed toward the cabin door.

“You can watch the stars come out if you like, but if you know the sky like a seaman does, all that'll do is make you question your faith.”

The brightest stars were already visible. Carlos looked at them and recalled something he read in a dirty old book not too long beforehand that sounded similar to Captain Gil's warning.

* * *

  
Joe gripped his deck firmly with his left hand, preparing to aim it at Alice, then Grace, then Burner, before turning it on himself and firing four more volleys in kind. “Two, then three, then two, then three; then three-two-three-two?”

“That's fine,” the lucario affirmed.

Alice continued answering Grace's question while Joe dealt out most of the cards. “I hated it. It made my paws hurt, and I didn't think I would ever need to write anything important. But every time we were at a pokemon-friendly diner with paper place-mats, he'd make me take dictation and write until either the food came or the paper was covered. And if I wrote too large he'd switch his with mine and have me start over. Pass.”

Grace examined her cards and stalled for time with an “um,” hoping Joe would look at his hand.

Alice knocked on the table. “Hey, I warned you it's two points for cross-boarding, that includes scanning brain waves.”

Grace slumped a little. “Pass.”

Burner studied his hand intently while Alice continued. “Anyway, thanks to that, and the greatest gift he ever gave me—and I'm not forgetting my freedom—a complete name, I've been able to avoid a lot of hassles in getting things I need—”

Burner glanced at Joe. “Pass.”

“—and the things I can't get—”

Joe passed.

“—let's just say I've found the right friends to take care of me.”

“No,” Burner interjected, startling Alice out of a demure smile, “you've found the right family.”

Alice's eyes widened as she looked at the others at the table, before trying to look at nobody. “Burner, that's the second time you've said something like that today.”

“That is, if you find us acceptable,” Burner conceded.

Alice's ears lowered and her aura sensors raised. “I—I really don't know what to say.”

Joe leaned forward over the table's edge. “Your phone's already activated through my account. If there's anything else you need me for, I'll be happy to help.”

Grace spoke next, telepathically. “Don't tell the boys, but since we met I've felt like it would be nice to have someone like a sister.”

Alice nodded and hummed an acknowledgment but still avoided anyone's gaze.

Burner reached across the table and laid his scaly hand palm-up before her. “You can say ‘yes,’ if you think it's the right thing to do.”

Alice reached out, and almost touched Burner's palm with her own, but hesitated, withdrew, and choked. “Uh, give me, a—I need a minute.” She ran out of the kitchen.

James and Marianne rubbernecked as she dashed past them, locking herself in the bathroom and turning the water faucet on full blast. Joe looked to Grace and spoke her name. Grace responded with a gentle shake of her head. “No, her mind—it's trying to defend itself, like it did when I synchronized with her a long time ago and went too far. I shouldn't pry.”

James changed channels.

Marianne pressed a tendril against his right temple and began pushing, tilting his head and threatening to penetrate it. “You're bad with women.”

James swatted at her. “What? Go away.”

Marianne pressed two tendrils against him. “See? There. That's what I mean.”

James pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it beneath her.

She lassoed his hand, pulled his thumb from its button, and kept pulling until he yelped. “Don't tempt me, J.R.” Seven seconds passed. “Fine! I'll take care of her!” Marianne shouted, then she whispered into his ear, pressing firmly against his head, “You will die alone because of your attitude,” before gliding south.

Alice glanced into the mirror when she felt something sinister approaching her aura sensors. “Please don't pull my ribbons.”

Marianne coiled up her tendrils. “What makes you think I would do that?”

Alice glowered at Marianne's reflection.

“I do what I have to do to survive. Fright, surprise, a constant atmosphere of anxiety; that keeps me going. But pulling your bows right now? That would've just made you feel hurt and abused. I'm a parasite with a short fuse, but I'm not a sadist.” Marianne drifted up against Alice's sensors, leaned over her head, and turned the water to half its previous rate. “What the hell is wrong with you, Alice?”

“I don't know.”

“That must be a first; no wonder you're shaken up. You aren't shy about getting—or taking—what you want: attention, dinners, houses. You didn't take Burner's hand. Why?”

“Because, because everything I've done on my own since my Daddy had to go was something he told me to do. Find shelter, make trustworthy friends, protect myself.”

“Is that all?”

“No. Find happiness.”

“I think yours is in the kitchen, if you forgot what it looks like…”

“I broke one of the rules, though. I told myself I didn't, but I did: Never let anyone follow you home.”

Marianne drifted around and turned the water's flow back to full blast, and began to diffuse her tendrils into a hazy cloud around Alice. The lucario started to resist, the ghost tightened her grip and asked, “Please don't struggle. I told you, I'm not here to pull your ribbon.”

Alice calmed down, looking at Marianne's face's reflection in the mirror. Backwards, it somehow seemed honest. Then it cracked a slight grin, tilted slightly to the side, and sang with the lilt of a lullaby over an eerie wail that harmonized with the water's hiss. “I'm not going to hurt you, close your eyes. Let me feel your dreams, reach behind their guise. When my work is done and it's time to wake; Marianne'll tell you which path to take.”

Influenced by a taste of a perish-song, Alice nodded off and collapsed during Marianne's clumsy rhyme, but remained upright, suspended by a purple fog. In the kitchen, Joe snacked on some potato chips and watched Grace as she became suddenly alert. Burner had hardly moved, and only to decline offered snacks.

“The ghost is doing something,” Grace said in a low tone. “Something weird.”

Joe crunched a chip. “Weird?”

“Marianne is hard for me to sense clearly. She's shadowy and mixed up, and if I try to pick something out it overwhelms me. But right now, she's doing something… kinda Psychic. I've felt that from her sometimes, but it was always cold. This feels warm for some reason.”

Alice's eyes opened again with a flutter and her feet kicked around instinctively to find footing that she did not yet require.

Marianne pulled her gently back and released her into the care of her own sense of balance. “You didn't break his rule, because you've never had a home. Never in your whole life. He didn't follow you home; you followed him home, and his door is standing open to you.” Unsatisfied with looking at the lucario's reflection, Marianne yanked Alice's head to look straight up as she leaned over her upside-down face. “Don't let your Daddy down. Don't let that door close on you. And, don't forget what the wise snake told you.”

Alice squinted with confusion.

Marianne's expression became fierce as her tendrils coalesced tightly around Alice's torso and limbs. Punctuating each word separately, the ghost practically growled, “She said: Don't screw this up!” and underscored her statement by slapping the faucet handle to stop its flow.

Alice's vision turned purple and blurred as Marianne yanked her with great speed through the door and wall, and the next wall, into the kitchen, standing her just behind the seat where she had been playing a card game. In the same instant that Marianne released Alice, she dissipated into invisible nothingness, leaving Alice to stand alone in the spotlight. Alice regained her sense of location and looked ahead. Grace was staring at her. Joe was staring at her. Burner was staring at her, with his arm still stretched across the table's minor axis. Alice drew her seat aside, took his claw with both of her paws, and gave it a strong tug, pulling him a few inches up out of his chair. Then she climbed across the table and hugged him. “Thank you. Thank you, Burner. Thank you all.”

James listed to a side to see what was happening at a better angle. He leaned back and counted to himself softly. “Grace, Burner, Alice, Marianne—”

“What?” Marianne said flatly, instantly appearing before James and obscuring his vision of anything else.

“Augh! Shouldn't I have to say your name three times before you do that?”

“Be more fun, J.R.”

“What's fun? My home is turning into a zoo.”

Marianne drifted aside to float over the love-seat's empty half. “For shame! Jealous of your own son. If you go any lower, I'll sign you up for a limbo competition.”

James was about to take a drink, but halted. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I think they used to do that on the third Thursday of every month, but the last time Harvey participated was about nine years ago. Maybe they've changed it since then.” Marianne watched James stare at her, and readied an insult before realizing it was her mistake. “Oh, by low, jealous?”

James' expression did not change.

“Do you deny it? He's picking up all those cool pokemon without even trying, and a gym badge too. The only pokemon you ever got along with was what, a buizel?”

“I deny it because it ain't true. We were perfectly happy before any of your kind started imposing. All of you are nothing but trouble.”

Marianne thought for a moment. Her expression lost its sarcastic texture. “You really think you two were perfectly happy, don't you?”

James shot her a quick glance and returned to viewing his television. After another moment of quiet between them, he shot another glance, and let his patience break. “Well? Where is it? You never say something like that without twisting the knife.”

Marianne twiddled two tendrils and, perhaps, feigned innocence. “Didn't I already?”

James noticed the can he was drinking from had become rather light. “If I'm going to deal with your shit, I'm going to need something stronger than caffeine. Make yourself useful and bring me a beer.”

The ghost leaned against James and tussled his hair. “Now you're talking!” She flew off in a direction away from the refrigerator.

James turned in his seat and saw her punch through the wall twice then make for the door, as though she needed to pass through it to depart. “Hey, what are you doing?”

As a swift violet blur she appeared directly before him again. “Taking a lot of your money. You told me to bring you a beer. You know what that word means to me.”

“I do now,” James admitted with a hint of annoyance.

“Hey, I'll bring back a pirate hat for you. James, be more fun.”

Alice entered the living room alone as Marianne departed, and sat beside James.

“Mister Rainier, I want to thank you for your hospitality. You and your family have always made me feel welcome here, even Marianne in a strange way.”

James interrupted. “The ghost has a strange way, but it is not part of this family.”

Alice whimpered faintly. “With Joe's blessing, Burner has asked me to become part of his, this family. I've accepted, uh, I mean I want to accept, but this all went backwards: Burner and I became, well, friends, then he asked Joe, and now—”

James held his palm toward Alice and rose to enter his kitchen.

“Grace, I'm going to have a discussion with Alice. You are not going to read her memories of tonight, and you are not going to start probing around for clues, got it?”

Grace nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, Master James!”

He turned to his son. “Joe, I respect that you are a young man now and it's time to start making your own decisions. But, that doesn't mean you make decisions that aren't completely your own. Understand me?”

Joe looked away slightly. “Yes, Dad.”

“Burner. You remember what we discussed.”

Burner sat stiffly upright. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Alice, get in my car.”

Neither she nor James spoke a word till they were on the path toward Linalool City, whereupon he turned off his radio. “I've heard that lucarios are naturally loyal. Is that a fact?”

“I think so. I really don't know any but myself and my father. He protected us.”

“Us?”

“His mistress's husband was a very angry man. I was only a couple weeks old I think, but I'll never forget how his aura felt.”

“Will that loyalty extend to the members of this family you think you want to join?”

She demurred again. “Mister Rainier, it already has.”

“Clarify some things for me. You do have a trainer, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is he, exactly?”

Everything about her drooped. “Palmitoy Penitentiary.”

“That's not exactly away on business like you've made it sound like, Alice.”

“The way I've explained Daddy's situation let you assume one thing, and now that I've told you exactly where he is, you're assuming another thing. Either way, you're filling in the gaps for yourself. I can't help that, so I chose the way that was safest.”

“The one that doesn't reveal that you were trained by a criminal?”

She drew her legs against the edge of her seat. “One that doesn't admit that I'm one broken ball away from becoming anybody's pokemon.”

“You want to stay his, then? I'll assume after a nickel or dime, he can get out on parole or something. Let's say he wants his dog back. What are you going to do to MY family? What would he do to it?”

She sat quietly for almost a kilometer. “I will have to follow my heart. He gave me my freedom at the cost of his own, so I know he will honor my decision.”

James nodded and continued along Route R–L until a left turn put him on a winding path traveling up the eastern slopes of Mount Buchu. He stopped at a small roadside clearing that provided a great view of surrounding landscape, dominated by bright lights of Linalool's night life plus the faint glow of Coumarin near the horizon beyond Lake Muramis. Alice followed him as he left his car and leaned against the ledge's guard rail.

“Nothing of what we say here will be repeated or even acknowledged in the future. Understand?”

“Yes, Mister Rainier.”

“I am not well. Joe is slightly suspicious. Grace is concerned, but I told her to mind her own business. Marianne knows; she has been doing things she thinks will help me… I think. Don't ask why, because I don't know. I don't want to think any of it has helped, but she is keeping my medication hidden from everyone and providing cover stories when my symptoms show up, so I'm keeping the peace with her. That medication is being provided gratis by a dangerous man named Simon Well. He tried to capture Grace when she was in the wild to turn a quick buck by putting her on auction. Joe wound up with her first and ruined those plans, but he's keeping himself in the picture. We have a little history, but I don't think he's the sentimental type. That worries me. Anyway, his pills might be helping, but they aren't a cure.”

James pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. “I thought I gave these up for good, but always kept one around just in case I needed a crutch to lean on. Since Grace came into my life, I'm halfway back to where I was. I thought the same about pokemon, and did the same, too. Alice, I brought you here and told you this because you deserve to know what you're getting yourself into. It's not going to be swimming pool parties and ravioli dinners and fawning over your hunky chicken alternatively at his place or yours. When push comes to shove, Joe's going to need someone to lean against. I've got a good friend, a retired rear-admiral, Nigel Biltmore, who was something of a second father to me for a while, and he's agreed to take care of the legal custody side of things if I go before Joe's of-age, but Joe hardly knows the man and Skipper doesn't have enough energy to really deal with a teenager and his poorly-trained pokemon. You've proven you can stand on your own two feet. If you're going to be part of this family, you're going to be ready to stand fast. I hope he can weather it, but if he can't, Grace is going to suffer with him because she's hitched her wagon to his mind and emotions. I don't have to tell you that Burner is strong, kindhearted, and devoted, but he's also very immature. He thinks going shopping by himself today is a great feat. You might find that cute and endearing, but I see it as something he needs to grow out of, quick. If they become a mess, I need Joe to have level heads that he trusts to turn to and rely on.”

They stood silently, hearing nothing but nocturnal insects and a passing owl.

“Is your interest in Burner worth getting involved with all this?”

Alice took a deep breath and held it momentarily. “No. But I don't have an interest in Burner like you are thinking; like I'm looking for a plaything. No, because my interest is in having a family, not just companionship. Mister Rainier, my earliest complete memory is the sound of a man yelling at and hurting his daughter, the smell of his blood after my father stopped him—” Alice's voice started to waiver. She slipped beneath James' arm and pressed alongside him. “I felt all of their auras ripple as it happened. Her terror, her mother's despair, my father's resolve, that man's rage. I—I didn't know what to do. Daddy told me to run but I could feel it in him, he didn't want me to go, it broke his heart to tell me to go but he knew he couldn't take a chance that he couldn't protect me and I wanted to tell him I loved him but I didn't know how; it was just some feeling inside me, a word I couldn't say stuck inside my head and then he shouted at me and shoved me and I ran and I ran and I—” Alice fell to her knees around James' legs and bawled. “I felt him die when he killed him.”

A minute passed before Alice recovered enough to stand again. James felt impotent, this having caught him completely unprepared, and without any idea what he should do about it.

“But, before that, my earliest incomplete memory: I don't remember seeing anything, or hearing anything, or smelling anything. It's just a feeling, a faint sensation. I didn't even know what it was for a while. It was my father's aura, when he picked me up and held me for the first time. I've felt something like it since then. I felt it from my second Daddy, when he heard me agree to leave the pokemon center with him. I felt it from Burner after I evolved in his arms. It's a feeling of pride and optimism. It's a feeling I want to share with people I care about, even though they can't feel it in their auras the way I do. James, I'm thankful to you that you brought me here and warned me about this. I'm thankful, because it means that you do care about me, and you want to protect me from maybe making a mistake. That tells me you already see me as part of your family.” She slipped beneath his arm again, wrapping her left around his lower back, and pressing against him as her right reached about to join with its complement. “That tells me that my new family is a good one, and whatever happens, I'm not going to feel any regrets.”

James finished off his cigarette with one last drag. “It's had its share of downs in the past,” James hesitatingly ran his fingers' tips along Alice's scalp as she looked up to him, returning to her ears their typical erection, “but the average has been improving recently.”

Walking back to James' car, Alice stopped him and commented, “Look at that. The whole sky is clear, except for that one little cloud peeking around the mountain like it's spying on us. See it, lit up by the moonlight. Isn't that weird?”

James looked and noticed it, too; smiled, and chuckled. “Not at all.”

* * *

  



	12. Communiques

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 12: Communiques.

* * *

  
Joe received his pokemon from an attendant, released Burner and Grace, and adjusted his collar sash. Running his thumb over his only badge as he stepped up to the circle, he felt funny wearing it.

Percival stood a quadrant away, laughing to himself as Joe touched what should've been his own badge. He called across the circle's rim while receiving and releasing his fighters. “We should make a wager, Joe. I win, you give me that badge. You win, well, you're not going to win.”

“If it belongs to anybody, it belongs to Burner, and I don't think he wants me to give it away.”

Burner confirmed Joe's suspicion by standing immediately behind him, gripping his master's right shoulder with a gentle pull and rubbing his thumb talon over the badge while crowing something that sounded boastful and snarky. Percival pulled Sam and Frankie near and whispered something into their ears before sending them in. Grace ignored the boys' exchange—her attention loosely directed toward the gallery—and drifted into the circle behind Burner as he and the others took their positions. Arena lighting shifted as the gym prepared to begin the night's final. There seemed to be some sort of delay, as their judge was not present.

“Is this seat taken?”

James glanced at an elderly stranger and admitted, “Nope.”

The old man sat with a smooth, gentle motion. Almost deliberate. His pet bird squatted beside him, a xatu unable to sit comfortably in fixed seating. It grumbled something that got the old man's attention. He turned to his neighbor, “My friend says that he feels something's bothering you.”

James opened his mouth to reply but was run over by a continuing Iwamoto.

“And, that you will say something rude if I bring it up, which I should let slide or interrupt before you say it.”

James leaned forward a bit and squinted at the two-seats-away xatu. “I don't like having my mind read.”

The old man laughed. “Reading minds without permission isn't his way, although he does establish telepathic links when he needs to.” He leaned toward Crying-Tree, who stretched toward Iwamoto likewise until they almost touched. Then, his bird rose and shuffled away.

“What his powers noticed is that the beautiful gardevoir out there is paying attention to how you're feeling.”

“She's my son's… starter.”

Iwamoto looked to his left and nodded gently to someone far away. “I visit this place frequently and recognize the regulars. He's been to this gym many times this year, but you haven't.”

“I don't approve of the sport.”

The gym announcer's voice boomed through the gallery. “Rennin Gym invites you to turn your attention to the center circle for tonight's local doubles final between sixth-tier Percival Finnegan and fifth-tier Joe Rainier. Both are freshman students at Marignac High and even live on the same street, so we're sure they and their pokemon know what they're up against. While earlier rounds were played for points, this final will be one round with no timer. The one with a pokemon still standing when the dust settles will be our champion. Pokemon on your marks; combat begins with the light signal.”

Iwamoto nodded again. “You're watching it tonight.”

A bright strobe above the circle blinked three times in a fraction of a second.

Being the fastest pokemon on the field, and knowing that Percival had programmed Burner with earthquake during their summer adventure, Sam leapt acrobatically before Burner as he charged toward Frankie, surely intending to knock the ram out first-thing. Grace targeted Frankie, too, with a confuse-ray, but Frankie kept his focus and successfully cast a rain-dance, elevating the local humidity to its maximum and beyond. Burner broke free from Sam and prepared to shake the arena with a mighty tremor, but caught a belly full of static-charged ampharos when Frankie headbutted head-long into Burner as his foot came down. The disrupted impact stumbled an already-disoriented Sam and knocked Grace off balance, while both Burner and Frankie struggled to stand upright after their collision.

James blotted a spot of spilled soda on his right pants leg with a napkin. “I didn't give him enough of my time before I realized I didn't have as much as I'd thought. I'm working on that, even if it means watching pokemon fight.”

Iwamoto hummed with agreement, never taking his eyes off of the contest.

Slowed by static, a very fluffed blaziken wanted to pay Frankie back, but Sam cut him off again. Grace noticed Frankie's gems glowing bright white as electricity arced across his horns. She teleported twice, once beside Sam and Burner to force them apart, and then, grabbing Burner and warping him to a place near the rim and behind Frankie. Still dazed from Grace's confuse-ray, Frankie lost focus when he lost sight of his target and failed to ground himself properly while directing his attack into the earth instead of into Sam, the only pokemon he could see to strike, partially electrocuting himself.

The old man adjusted his glasses slightly. “Is that why the gardevoir listens to the emotions you give off? Because she knows you don't like watching this?”

James folded his arms. “It's because she knows I'm not happy with my son turning into the cliche young man with a beautiful gardevoir and few real friends, none of which are girls.”

Sam's acrobatics—a consolation gift from Ulysses after Percival came home—was wearing Burner down, but he wasted no time and delivered an earthquake proper, flattening Frankie before he could recover his charge or his stance. Grace brushed fallen hair out of her face while Sam shrugged off the temblor and came at Burner again. Grace targeted her teammate with a heal-pulse to keep him standing as Percival activated Frankie's ball.

Iwamoto spoke with a weary tone. “Boys will be boys, and girls will be girls. Do you trust him to always try to do the right thing?”

“Yes,” James admitted.

“And do you trust her to always try to do the right thing?”

“Yes,” James admitted somewhat reluctantly.

“I can't assuage your concerns, but since I was a young trainer once—well before they started talking to their masters in this region—and later a father to a young trainer, I can offer a bit of wisdom earned through experience. They'll make mistakes, they'll learn, and whatever happens, it won't be the end of the world. It is better that they have each other to rely on when they make those mistakes than some ‘real friend’ who really isn't.”

Sam deftly twisted around, escaping Burner's blaze-kick and providing an opportunity to get behind him and aerial-ace him into the flooring. Joe recalled Burner out from underneath Sam, who perched upon him as though he might try to rise again. With Burner removed, Sam turned his gaze toward Grace. She stunned him with a confuse-ray, acting defensively rather than strategically; he had a wild, blood-thirsty look in his eyes and inducing confusion was her immediate reaction just to make him look away. Even when he cringed and stumbled, she could still feel the wild and the blood-thirsty in his mind.

“Besides,” Iwamoto added, “everything changes in high school, and everything changes again after high school.”

Grace summoned a cloud of magical-leaves and pelted Sam weakly, but enough to suffer only a glancing blow from his night-slash. She teleported to the rim opposite Sam to buy some time, confusing him once more. He knelt and waited for its effect to dissipate.

Iwamoto leaned forward. “During the off season, many parents come here to cheer their children on. Many of them are caught up in winning, to make up for their losses when they were trainers themselves or thinking their kids will be happy if they bring home little trophies. I don't meet enough that are actually thinking about what being there—being here—really means.”

Sam rushed in, and Grace fell back on a proven tactic. Her body faded to a dull purple. She glided low, legs first, somewhat beneath and somewhat through Sam and his tail. As he twisted to come about, Grace became properly opaque and floated into him forcefully with her left shoulder aimed at his center of mass, staggering him across the white tape line.

A referee blew his whistle and the arena lighting changed, spotlights appearing to highlight the victors. While Joe did not look much different, Grace's shiny nature became somewhat more pronounced within their intense beams.

Iwamoto stood with a smooth, gentle motion. Very deliberate. “And that's why I'm sorry that I must do this.” He drew a gunsen from his pocket and flicked it open. It was solid red with a black cross in the middle. He also held up his left hand, palm forward and fingers spread wide.

Crying-Tree entered a small booth and startled the announcer within by reaching over his shoulders and pressing his wings against the sides of his head for a moment.

Sam looked at Grace with a furious sneer as the announcer addressed Rennin Gym's attendees. “Having performed confuse-ray, teleport, heal-pulse, magical-leaf, and shadow-sneak during one session, Trainer Rainier's gardevoir has committed a five-technique foul, and is disqualified from play. The winner of tonight's contest: Mr. Percival Finnegan!”

Redirected spotlights bathed a badge-count-zero and his starter, whose mind did not appreciate the attention but whose skin delighted in a hot lamp's glow.

Stepping out of the circle, it was now Grace who wore an angry expression.

James left the seating a few steps behind Iwamoto. “I guess you're a big wig in all of this.”

The old man melodramatically scratched his balded head and mused, “I seem to have forgotten my big wig tonight.” He waited a couple seconds for his joke to fall flat. “They like it better when I sit down there, but you can't see everything that's going on when you're too close.” Iwamoto stopped and James almost bumped into him. Iwamoto lowered his voice. “Often, I invite people into my office and discuss matters over a cup of noodles, but in your case, you have all the advice I think you need.”

* * *

  
Rejuvenated, Burner stood and glanced around quickly when he was released in Rennin Pokecenter's lobby. Joe did not look happy. Grace did not either. “We didn't win.”

Joe said, “No,” with a huff. Grace turned and stomped away, although her form and nature prevented her stomps from being particularly stompy.

Burner grumbled. “I really wanted not to lose to Percival.”

“Same here.”

They started walking toward the door. Burner continued. “I should have spent more time letting her practice and train on me. Your T.D. said she needs more experience to use the psychic technique effectively, and right now she only has a weak confusion attack and a Grass-type leaf thing she never uses.”

“She used it tonight.” The doors glided open with a hiss. “And that's part of why we lost. She didn't get knocked out. She got D.Q.'d for using five moves.”

James put out his cigarette and got into his car's driver seat. Grace was in the back seat already. She could both barely hear and barely feel Joe and Burner's conversation as they approached.

“…how sometimes she did a thing kinda like when Marianne pulls people through walls instead of when she actually teleports? That's some shadow-sneak thing, and it counted as number five. Sam was still in the ring when she did it so Percy got the win. Do you want to squeeze in the car, or ride home in your ball? I'll sit in the back so you can have more leg room.”

Burner could feel Grace feeling his reaction to the news. “I think I'll visit Alice if that's okay with you.” He gave Joe a loose hug when he assented. “I'm sorry I didn't do enough to be sure we would win.” Burner walked away.

“Burner, it's…” Burner kept walking. “…no big deal.” Joe slipped into the passenger seat. He could feel something seething behind him.

Their ride home was absolutely silent.

* * *

  
Mister Pearson noticed Marianne's jewelry beginning to glow. “What are you doing?”

She swiped a tendril through his bowl of popcorn, flinging a couple pops into the air, catching two in her mouth and letting three more pass through and become suspended in her hat for the time being. “What do you mean? Oh. That probably means the Rainerds are back within my radius,” she relaxed for a moment to process the vibes, “and the blue one is in a bad mood. After I shift that into an energy I can readily consume, I'll be in a good mood.” She popped each of the three pops out of her hat and into the air again, catching them successively successfully. “They've been too positive lately, leaving me running on fumes.”

“So if you get in a good mood, you'll leave me alone tonight?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe I'm going to put out a call for a poochyena pup at the Center.”

Marianne dipped a chip. “Like you're going to find one that's willing to watch footy with you and won't slobber on these fine leather seats of yours.” She offered her chip to Mr. Pearson.

* * *

  
Grace teleported inside and opened the front door as soon as James halted his car. By the time father and son entered, her presence in their home was indicated only by running water in the bathroom.

James discarded his keys and checked the time. “It's too late to bother with cooking dinner. I'll heat up some leftovers. You got any homework this weekend?”

Joe felt a little stupid that he had forgotten. “Yeah. Mostly reading, though.”

“Get on it, I'll let you know when it's ready.”

The first couple of pages were easy enough, but something vague nagged at Joe. Concentrating was difficult at the sixth page, and by the ninth he could not focus enough to take a note without losing place and re-reading a paragraph or skipping ahead one. “Stupid damned rule,” he thought, “there's no reason for it. He got hit from behind and stepped out; it doesn't matter how it happened. We should've challenged the decision or something.” Joe began to softly say aloud what was crossing his mind. “The judge wasn't even ring-side. That gym is a carnival; pokemon and humans actually sign up to be treated like that? Mom was right about them; except him, though. I wanted to go. I wanted to change, and it's happened. So, why did I still want to go? Why do I still want to go? I know she told me something about this. What was it? … kons lera yudzvooj inte ansi ibeg—”

“Hot food now, cold food later, kids!” James shouted through the walls. While Joe's book fell to the floor, a startled splash indicated that Grace received the alert, also.

James ate in front of his television, delighted to do so without undesired accompaniment. Seeing live sports on one channel, he rightly concluded that Marianne would stay gone for at least the rest of the second half. Joe ate in the kitchen and was a third through when a still wet in a few places Grace paced in, drew out her chair, and joined him.

“Grace, I think you were in my head.”

Grace squinted and gave him a strange look.

“I could hardly tell at first, but I think I've been feeling how you've been feeling since we got in the car. It's like you're letting it build up because you're not talking about it. We all wanted to win, but we didn't. The thing is, I don't want to care about losing, but you're caring, and it's making me care, too.”

“I apologize,” Grace whispered, “I wasn't trying to change your emotions. I'll never do that to you.”

Joe finished his meal, and watched Grace finish her own.

Grace collected their bake-ware and placed it in the sink. She maintained a low tone. “I'll leave you alone so you can finish your homework without feeling what I'm projecting.”

Joe approached her and took her hands. They felt ice cold. “No. I want you here, and to feel better. Not only because it's making me feel bad also—”

“Me too, a little,” James added as he entered the kitchen to get a drink.

“—but because knowing you're unhappy is making me feel bad.”

Grace moved one of his hands to a gill and the other to her frontal sensory node. James paused when she did this, but resumed his exit with a huff.

“I'm sorry, Joe. For the gym and for after. I like showing that I'm tougher than I look, and I love how competition has gotten you away from those video games and around some new friends who Burner and I have helped you impress.” She lowered her gaze. “Losing tonight in front of so many people because I broke a stupid simple rule, though; I made you look like a poor trainer, or a fool for trusting me to choose my own strategies.”

“Hey,” Joe shook her a little to get her attention. “The three of them were fighting all summer long and getting experienced. We've been playing in the pool and doing house chores. You didn't win fair, accidentally, but other than that, you did beat them. That's more than I've ever actually asked of you.” Joe noticed that she felt a little warmer. “I've got a few chapters to read, how about you sync with me and make what I'm reading feel real?”

She felt warmer still. “I'd like that. I'll join you in a minute.”

Joe returned to his room, Grace sat beside James. “Uh, Dad, I'm sorry I brought everybody down like that. I'm used to feeling you guys, but I didn't realize that if I focused on how I felt, it might go the other way.”

“And the moral of your story is, Grace?”

“Don't focus on negative emotions?”

“No, Grace. Don't forget that sharing is a two-way street. I've conceded not to hold you responsible for what you are, but you are responsible for how what you are affects us. If you can't keep your blue funk to your blue self, figure out how.” James gestured at her chest with a saucy fork. “Wrap those things in tin foil if you have to. My son makes you happy. The vice versa is on your shoulders.”

“He makes me very happy, and I want no less for him, but when I feel bad about something, I just do. I can't lie to myself and pretend to be feeling good, can I? I don't think it would work even if… I…” Grace trailed off, sensing that James was internally debating something drastic.

“Here's what I do sometimes.” James snatched Grace's left hand and touched it to his right temple for a half second, wincing somewhat as he focused on a very well-packaged and deliberately-selected set of memories.

Grace blushed and brought her hand over her lips as James released it from his grip. “Wha—!” She unwittingly curled her toes and twisted her torso away from him slightly, defensively. “Dad? You just—”

“I explained it to you in a way I know you will understand perfectly.”

Her skin remained ruddy and her gills almost glowed as her hand slowly glided down to rest on her ventral medial psionic attunement antenna. “I do understand.” She rose and came about the love-seat, but leaned over its back and quickly gave James a kiss on his cheek with her palms on his shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered as she withdrew. He could not help but feel her sincerity. She drifted away toward her partner's room.

A purple ghost coasted in through the wall behind James' television. Her jewels were not showing any glow, and two prominent tendrils crossed before the bulk of her essence. “Do you know how disappointed I am in what you just did?”

James glanced at Marianne only for a moment. “I don't care, Ghost.”

She slowly rotated upside-down and right-side-up as she approached him. “I should show you why you should.” She faded away. “Goodnight, and, pleasant dreams.”

* * *

  
Burner entered through the insecure rear hatch, letting controlled flame light his way. He moved slowly until he heard a noise, a feeble whimpering sound. Fearing the worst, Burner raced up the flights of stairs, skipping first one and then two steps with each stride. The steps he used crackled as they bore an unfamiliar strain that his ascent put upon them. He entered her room readied for battle, but there was none to be had. Alice was still whimpering, clutching her cover in a tightly-crumpled wad. He extinguished his wrists and placed them upon her, pulling her to face him. She feebly swung her fists against his arms and kicked him in his belly. “Alice,” he asked as he withdrew, “what's wrong with you?”

Hearing her given name brought her forward to a less-troubled time. A time when her new Daddy asked the same question, seeing for the first time her experiencing the same sort of fit. Alice opened her eyes, disentangled herself from her bed-sheet, and let her aura sense find Burner in the dark. He could not see her smile a little. “Nothing now that you're here, B. I've got a little nightmare that likes to come back whenever I feel alone or worried. I'm not alone now,” she took him by his claws and pulled him into her bed, “and I've got nothing to worry about.”

As they settled in comfortably, Alice noticed something tinting Burner's aura. “B, something's bothering you, isn't it?”

“I'm a little disappointed that we lost at the gym tonight. Grace made a technical foul and was disqualified after I fell down.”

“Oh. That's it? I was thinking maybe somebody got hurt.”

“Nothing that they can't treat while we're in our balls.”

“That's good. Balls. I haven't been in mine in a couple of years. Not since Daddy got in trouble, and a long time before that. We weren't battling so much at that point, and he'd rather pay for tonics than put me in a ball at a pokecenter. It was like he was worried I wouldn't come out again sometime.”

“Has that ever happened?”

Alice took a moment to think about it. “I remember we overheard a rumor about that. There was a bad run of control chips some time ago, they weren't quite stable. Normally it wasn't a problem but if a pokemon was left in the ball for a really long time, eventually the image errors would add up and the ball would try to emergency-eject the pokemon. If it could, the ball would break itself and the pokemon would have to be recaptured, but if it couldn't because the ring was locked or the ball was clamped, the pokemon could die.”

“Was he worried your ball was one of those?”

“I don't think so. I think he simply didn't like seeing me turned into energy and back again. There were a lot of things about pokemon Daddy didn't seem to be comfortable with. It was like we were something he was just starting to learn ab—”

Alice burst from their bed and ran toward her room's non-broken window, where her new cellular telephone and its little solar charging dock rested, guided by the light of its screen as it signaled an incoming call.

“Hello? Yes, this is Alice Ha—oh, yes, absolutely! Oh, god, thank you so… huh? Yes, I am. I… see.” She listened for a short time. “No! You heard me.” She began to tear up slightly. “I want to more than I want anything else in the world,” she looked toward Burner's faint outline, “that I don't already have, but I'm not going to do that. I'm not a…” She listened for a short time. Then, she hung her head somewhat and spoke barely above a whisper. “Acceptable.” She disconnected.

Alice turned on an electronic lantern that needed new batteries. “I have to do something tonight. I—it's another part of what I didn't want to talk about when you helped me with the door. Someday I will want to talk with you about it, but not… Burner?”

“Alice?”

She hopped into his arms and gripped him tightly, neither minding that her chest spike dug into his flesh. “When I come home later, I want to come home to an empty house. If you want to stay a while, have a drink or a snack, go ahead, but please, don't be here when I get back. Okay?”

He gripped her tightly, too, letting her spike pierce the skin beneath his feathers. “Whatever this is, Alice, it's not okay.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“So am I.”

Burner re-ignited a wrist and lit their way as he escorted Alice down her stairs. He could feel her shiver gently for a moment when they exited the house. He knelt, and they shared a brief and dispassionate kiss. Neither had any enthusiasm for the moment. As she broke into a run down the sidewalk, instinct told him that he knew where she was going: Mrs. Song's.

* * *

  
Sam, crammed into his grovyle-sized bedding, shouted with a sneer, “Do you have to sub-vocalize like that?”

“Yes, I do. Shut it, it's not your literature grade on the line,” Percival replied.

Sam grumbled and turned a page. He had looked over Percival's assignment earlier that evening; it was trivial compared to what the sceptile was reading for recreational purposes. Peace held for about a minute, before Sam re-approached the limit of his patience. Breaking a leaf from his tail, he marked his page and exchanged his book for his tree. He examined it closely beneath his heat lamps. The last of its vitality was now escaped, and he felt likewise in sympathy. In the manner of a one-pokemon funeral march, Sam plodded to Percival's window, slid it open smoothly, and discarded the pot's contents behind a bush beyond.

“Close that,” Percival looked up to see that Sam was already lowering the window pane, “yeah. If I wanted outside air, I'd be outside.”

Sam snarled as he walked by, and out of his trainer's room. He stopped to peer into a room beside. Frankie and his own true master were reading a simple book together. Sam said something privately, to which Frankie responded with a bleat and a nod. He continued on his way to the kitchen and withdrew a plastic cup of fruit salad from the refrigerator.

When Sam reached the front door, Delilah caught him: “Do you think you're going somewhere?”

Sam spoke with deliberately-selected words. “I want to get some fresh air, and Master did not want his window to be open.”

With an eyebrow arched, Delilah hummed and turned away, waving him off.

Sam intended to circle the block at first, but without much traffic to challenge him, he started crossing streets instead of turning left when he met them. His thoughts wandered, too. Because of its annoying impositions, his body became a focus of thought. The weight of his developed tail, his broader stride, the nodules on his back that responded with a strange sensation each time he stepped beneath the glow of a sodium street lamp; it all annoyed him. It made him want to slouch and let his shoulders hang. He entertained the notion and realized that his tail became a proper counter-balance when he leaned forward. Then, he realized how easy it would be to transition between two- and four-footed strides. How undignified it would look, he thought, as he imagined himself doing so. Yet, he could think of no good reason not to give in to the temptation. He was alone right now. Discarding his plastic cup in the next waste-bin he found, Sam leaned, Sam dropped, and Sam ran. He darted into the street, and found an even faster pace when he did so before an approaching vehicle. He could not stop; whatever was motivating him now told him to keep running. Coroxon could not be that far away, could it? Light, dark, light, dark; the dingy pinkish-yellow sodium lamps flashed above him as a messy patterned blur. Except the next one, it was yellow and red for some reas—

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
The rhythmic noise of waves sloshing ashore roused Carlos. He found himself snoozing in a small hut with no recollection of how he got there. He emerged and glanced around, seeing little else but a vast expanse of beach and ocean beneath a clear sky, bright with moon- and star-light. Near the horizon, he spotted torches and outlines of a few more huts like the one now behind him. The walk was long across soft, tiring sand. When he arrived he joined with what seemed to be at least five dozen tourists, splashing in the water, taking photographs of themselves, and putting on the sort of spectacle that well-funded vacation travelers put on. Someone shouted about dolphins coming around again, whatever those were. A small building up the beach's incline suggested a place to sit and rest, but Carlos never reached it.

“Sir, you don't look like you are one of our guests or a resident of this island. May I see your ticket?”

That thing again. Carlos produced it, and the man turned him about, practically shoving him back toward the shore. “You, Sir, are nowhere near punctual enough to maintain your position, if that is your intent. Now, go mingle until your boat arrives so no one will notice that you're joining the fun mid-way.”

Carlos mingled for two hours. It was inane and boring. On a boat for two hours more, he tried in vain to rest again, impossible due to the interference of his new “friends” and their desire for discourse.

Moored at the docks of the big island, Carlos followed the throng as they moved onto land, presumably toward reserved rooms in nearby hotels. Carlos's head felt like mushroom soup left out beneath scorching sun, but he knew for sure that he had no reservations, or for that matter, any idea where the “big island” was on the face of the planet or what its name might be. He glanced at a few signs. Most seemed to be in a foreign language, but some of the words seemed distantly familiar, and sounding a few out reminded him of his great grandmother for some reason.

“Hey, Buddy!” A stranger approached. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“There are a few things I could use right now.”

The stranger laughed. “There's a little open-air bar near here, a few blocks that way. They'll give you a freebie if you've been a customer at its sister location. All you gotta do is tell the bartender the name of that place.”

“And how would I know that?”

“You need a hint? Okay, both names start with the same name.” The stranger chuckled and walked away.

Carlos followed his advice and came upon what had to be the place. A dark-skinned, muscular man stood behind it; he clearly was both bartender and bouncer. No longer bearing any weight, Carlos's feet delighted as he slipped onto a stool, and the relief almost made him fail to recognize when the bartender spoke to him.

“Welcome to Sabrina's By-The-Sea, mon! What can I get ya'?”

* * *

  
—on he was lying in a pokecenter treatment room. Sam opened his eyes and saw yellow and red again, but lit from behind—well, actually, above. That was a matter of orientation, and Sam was not yet certain of his own.

“Sam,” those warm colors spoke, “you're going to be okay.”

The sceptile tried to rise, but a throbbing migraine discouraged him.

Burner pulled him up into a somewhat seated position. “Do you remember what happened?”

Sam ignored the question and struggled to focus on looking at Burner's face and recognizing to whom it belonged.

“You were running down the sidewalk. I turned a corner, and you were coming at me. I didn't realize it was you, and I did a blaze-kick to defend myself. I hit you really hard; I didn't mean to hurt you again, Sam. I brought you here for help, but they said you need to be balled and rejuvenated to start feeling right unless you want to rest up for a few days.”

Sam rolled out of his cot, being half caught by Burner as he failed to land on both of his feet. Re-aligned, he waved off the attendants who asked if he was sure he felt up to leaving, and slowly exited the pokecenter, Burner in tow. They began walking home, but Sam took a small detour when they neared Rennin Park. Sam climbed up onto the concrete bench and turned about, dragging his heavy tail across its surface. Burner sat beside him, curious if Sam was not fit to complete their trip home.

“Why do we do it? Why do we do what they tell us? Zero-point-eight per capita in Rennin, more in some towns, fewer in others, and rising steadily everywhere. We all choose to do what we're told. If you'd asked me why two years ago, I would've said it's because our masters are our family, or because they give us food and shelter. But that isn't always true. You saw them this summer. Some of those pokemon attack as soon as the red glow fades and don't stop slashing until they're balled again. And those… those are the ones described as properly and professionally trained. That is the ideal—their ideal—of us, of what we ought to be.”

“Some pokemon and their trainers are like that. But not many. Most of the ones we saw—”

Sam interrupted Burner with a vitriolic hiss. “Most of them were kids and their pets. Like ourselves. Have you watched the serious League competitions on T.V.? The higher you go, the more of them are like that. No, not all. But,” Sam raised a pointing claw, “there is an indifference up there. It makes sense; you're there to fight, not to compare who gives their pokemon the softest cot or the tastiest supper. Ultimately, though, a competitive pokemon's life is weighed in terms of speed and power, not happiness or fulfillment.”

“I'm happy, and I feel fulfilled when I fight, win or lose. Maybe they are happy and fulfilled, too.”

“Maybe. In a small way. Because they have small lives. Whatever number of square meters are contained within the arena du jour's ring, that's the size of it. If the only world you know is a white circle, and the only authority figure you know praises you for hitting anything that stands within it, whatever feeling that brings would be all you would understand as happy or fulfilling, and that would be all you would have… and have left to lose.”

Burner struggled to fully follow Sam's monologue. “You've been thinking about this a lot.”

“This was before you and Grace moved in. There was a garage sale a couple blocks from the house. I'd found a few coins on the ground and decided to spend them. There were a bunch of old, dusty books in a box. Frankie and Li'l Sis were learning words on T.V.; we all understand basic verbal commands, and I inherited the thing so I could read a little already, but seeing those shows inspired me. And, maybe I was a little jealous of them. Anyway, I dug around in the box and flipped through every book in it. Most were dedicated to a single subject each, and those didn't interest me. One was different, though. The index had dozens of names; each had written an article in the book. When I flipped through its pages, I wanted to know what all of those people were saying. So I bought that book, brought it home, and started teaching myself to read it. It talked about strange people, strange places, ancient legends. It talked about why people do what they do, or at least what they think is the reason why. Yes; I've been thinking about this a lot.”

Burner stood and pulled Sam from the bench, keeping him balanced until he found his own center of gravity. “It's very late. We should be home.”

“Home. Tell me something about yours.” The sounds Sam made changed dramatically. “In our language, not theirs. I would like to know what it is like to have a home where ‘Trainer’ does not name a stranger who replaced someone you once loved.”

* * *

  
Grace bolted upright. Her vision struggled briefly, accommodating a bright spotlight above her that at first made much of her own flesh appear blindingly white. She looked around hoping to identify her surroundings, which was not anything but shadow encircling a round metal table she now sat upon. She slid off of it and started wandering around. The floor was smooth and featureless and the light above seemed to follow her about. She noticed a slight incline anywhere she walked. Realizing the potential importance of not losing her bearings, she chose a direction leading from the table and continued straight ahead. She tried to feel for emotional presence; there was something but it was faint and its location was not clear. Struggling to figure out in which direction she felt it most strongly and paying no attention to her negligible surroundings, she stumbled. A broad metal rail had tripped her up. Already halfway over it, she climbed across, noting that she could not levitate to make that task easier. She continued on into the darkness until she reached a large metal barrier, taller than she stood. She hopped and reached upward, trying to grasp its edge, but could not touch it. A groove in the barrier seemed to be designed to impede her, as to reach the edge she had to throw her body flush against the barrier, but doing so caused her ventral node to catch in the groove. She turned sideways and attempted a few times more, even getting one digit over the edge for a moment. Tired from a physical exertion she was unaccustomed to, Grace sat and leaned against the wall. She looked up at the light. Really, it was an array of lights. She did not want to see them anymore. She closed her eyes and focused only on the sensation. While it did not seem meaningfully stronger in any direction, there was one direction that it seemed weaker, and she decided to investigate it.

Following along the wall she found it to eventually bulge outward from its seemingly flat surface, projecting deep into the darkness. Continuing along, she came to an embedded double door that she pried open with moderate effort. The interior looked something like a space ship in a speculative fiction film, filled with blinking lights and strange components that hummed. She walked around the ring-shaped hallway twice before deciding on what she thought must be its most important part and started pushing things that she thought were buttons. Two shiny metal handles on each side of the panel seemed useful for holding on to, since they featured knurled grips. She strained to grasp them, their spacing being almost as wide as her own wing-span, and once securely held, she pulled her lower body up and kicked one of the solid glass components in the face of the panel again and again and again. She did not know why doing that seemed like a good idea.

The light that followed her to the door turned red. So did everything else. The light began to brighten. A strange voice called out to her. “Von kono cikikyaa egœz!” it shouted. She turned to see who else was in this strange place, but could recognize nothing but a vague form as the red light grew too bright to tolerate. She closed her eyes. Through her eyelids, still the light was bright. She released the grips and covered her eyes to protect them from the glow. Soon, faint ambient sounds surrounded her, as did a distinct scent of garlic and pepper. Tentatively, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes.

“Rainier and Guests, your table is ready.” A maitre d' beckoned her to follow. She looked to her right. Joe was there, a young man about his mid, maybe late, twenties and dressed quite nicely. That did not seem odd. What did seem odd was when he captured her arm with his own. It was not blue. It was not even green. It was lighter and paler than Joe's, but a similar flesh tone, nonetheless. She looked down. She was dressed nicely too, but she was missing a significant accessory: her sensory horns. Her eyes widened as she ogled her alien chest before realizing how doing so must look to others and she snapped her vision forward. The maitre d' began dealing menus to a round wooden table. Joe drew a seat out for her. She sat as he seated himself, again at her right, and turned with a start as a towering man in a vest sat at her left. It was well tailored but struggled to accommodate his flexible yet taut form. His flesh was almost coppery, like someone who worked many hard hours beneath the sun, and he had a pronounced and striking profile. He looked at Grace in response to her reaction. She smiled meekly, and he smiled broadly. At that moment, a pair of arms wrapped them both. Their owner, a petite woman with amber eyes and hair tied into a loose ponytail by a blue ribbon, kissed Grace on her cheek and the other on his lips before releasing them and taking a seat to the latter's left. A glance to the right showed Grace three more guests taking their seats, but all attention was drawn away from the table and toward a vocal outburst.

“I don't have to be on the list!” A tall woman wearing a violet dress and an elaborate hat shoved aside the maitre d' that obstructed her path. With a strutting walk that made her wild deep crimson hair—which seemed to straighten out and curl up with each step—turbulently swirl in the air she sliced through, the woman approached Grace's table—stealing a spare chair from a neighboring party—and made room for herself, bullying aside a lithe and exotic-looking woman, who was the third of the three most recent additions, against the man seated to her left, who was until that moment engrossed in a book. The maitre d' had followed behind the brash one, but since none at the table vocally objected, he instead intended to bother the first of the three about his loud shirt's failure to comply with the restaurant's dress code. That choice only made things worse as the man pointed at the violet dress woman's hat, nodded, and put on a ball cap of his own.

“R.J.! So glad you could make it,” said the violet dress woman to a man approaching her table from the other side. She roughly kicked out a chair beside herself for him, almost knocking it over.

“So disappointed you could, too,” said James, looking older and somewhat weathered, as he accepted the remaining seat between his antagonist and the blue ribbon.

“Never change.” She turned away from James and toward the meek girl, whom she shouted through and made to cringe. “Waiter! Need a ninth place setting if you can count that high!”

Moments later, a waiter appeared with a setting and began taking orders around the table.

After placing her request, the blue ribbon called across to the man with the book. “Have you figured out whodunit yet?”

He turned a page. “This is not that kind of book, but the part I am reading now was done by Heilbroner.” The waiter took his order.

“Huh. I've never heard of him. Well, guys; this is it. I'm not insulting present company, but I'll be happy to walk inside my house and spend some time with absolutely nobody around.” The blue ribbon nudged the vest and whispered, “One exception.”

He blushed even redder than his normal skin tone.

“No offense taken,” said Joe, “these last couple weeks have had us all on edge.”

Conversation stayed light and floated around the table freely. Grace took a knife and used its blade to examine her reflection. It was strange, seeing herself with a tangible nose and round, crinkly ears. She finally saw enough and looked up. James had left.

“Where's Dad?” she asked.

Everyone seemed surprised, as though he had vanished or was never there—except for the woman in the violet dress, “Maybe he finally took my advice and decided to have some fun. Maybe he went swimming.” She turned to the meek woman, curling her upper lip into a subtle ripple. “You like to swim, go check the pool.” With a strangely serpentine motion, the girl left her seat and walked away, dragging her ivory-toned dress's long, colorfully accented train behind herself.

As though on cue, their food arrived. The vest's long right arm easily reached across the table for a salt shaker. The remaining members of the party dined enthusiastically. Except Grace, that is.

“Isn't it kind of rude of us to carelessly dig in like this? They aren't back yet, her food's getting cold sitting here and Dad's must be in the kitchen under a lamp.”

The man with the book hesitated as he brought a chunk of his fruit-laden salad to his mouth with a fork and glanced around at the others.

The violet dress woman dunked some fancy bread into a warm cheese sauce, and then used it as a pointer, flicking a glob of sauce in the process. “What you suggest is some sort of starvation pact.” She took a bite and licked her bright red lips as they formed a crooked smile. “Umm. Good stuff. I guess that's one way to join 'em, though; assuming the worst.”

“Please don't,” entreated the blue ribbon.

Grace turned to her right. “Joe, aren't you worried?”

“Of course I am, but we already discussed this.”

Grace frowned. “What? No, we haven't. It just happened not five minutes ago!”

The strong right arm gripped Grace's shoulder. “Please, calm down. You're getting mixed up again.”

Grace scowled and pushed her chair away from the table, having to duck out from beneath his reach. “Look, I'm going to try to find them.”

The ball cap grunted, “Who?”

“Who? I'm going to find… her; she was sitting between you two,” Grace pointed at the man with the book and the woman in the violet dress. There really wasn't a gap, or a chair, or a place setting between them, now. Grace realized this and squinted. “Uh, huh, and Dad. I'm going to find Dad.” Grace turned and paced toward the door. As she passed into the lobby she bumped into the protruding belly of a portly man with gray tufted hair. He wore an eye patch, and his other eye appeared to be suffering a subconjunctival hemorrhage. She somewhat bounced off of his body, which did not budge when they collided.

He laughed with a deep, cold reverberation. “You have. Now what?”

Grace straightened her dress and stared into his eye.

He pulled on a fine gold chain, revealing a pocket watch, whose face he checked briefly. “Maybe you'll know next time.” He replaced his timepiece, turned away from Grace, and walked into the dining area.

Grace followed behind as he vanished around the corner, but when she looked around it herself, he was gone. Slowly she exited the restaurant. She found no city beyond its doors; just darkness, an array of spotlights above, and a faint figure ahead of her. Grace walked toward it, noting a gentle incline as she stepped forward.

The meek woman stood alone.

Grace spoke to her softly. “Uh, ma'am, are you okay?”

“No.”

“Can I help?”

“No.”

“Do you—”

“No!” The girl darted into the darkness. As she exited the light, like her image the sound of her foot-falls ceased to exist.

Grace turned around and returned to the front doors of the restaurant. It was now locked shut. She looked up at the array of lights, and at the restaurant again. In a second it had become instead a large round structure with a pair of sliding doors. She pried them open again and entered. The round, circular hallway was unchanged in either direction. Echoing around, she heard a crunching, banging sound. Approaching it, she saw what she thought was some sort of control panel. Before it, a gardevoir, green of flesh, struggling to suspend herself from two metal grips that reached down from the ceiling, kicked at a strange object with all her might. “Hey,” Grace asked, but the other did not seem to hear her. It kicked again, and the object cracked and fell apart. Everything became red and bright. “Wait… tell me, who are you?” she shouted. The other gardevoir turned to face her, but squinted and recoiled as the red light became too bright to bear. Grace did the same immediately after.

“Are you okay?” The glow had faded. Grace opened her eyes. She was surrounded by busy people whose collective thoughts and emotions felt like a dull, noisy static. She also felt a warm hand grasp one of her own. “Are you okay? If you want to leave now, that's fine; I know you hate being around people, especially in groups. I'm just happy you came to see me off.”

“Liar!” she thought to herself, for she could feel the desperation in his soul for her to stay, even if they had only—

“Platform C, red line to Hexyloxy Harbor, arriving on-time in nine minutes. Platform B…”

—nine minutes left. She was uncertain what to say to her companion. She was uncertain who he was. Attempting to solve both problems by asking, she found she could not speak. She tried, but each syllable was a struggle and came out distorted. Her reaction to that discovery was interrupted as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into an embrace. She dreaded what she knew was going to happen. Most people who saw it ignored it, as most did not care. It was not as objectionable as it had been, to most. But there were a few. Their gaze would fixate when they noticed the human and the pokemon holding each other in a more-than-friendly way. They would not stop walking, but it was as if her ability locked on to every one and clung to their thoughts till they walked out of range. Soon, it was all she could feel, overpowering the sensation of comfort she felt from the man who held her in his arms.

Another announcement came over the speakers, prompting them to rise and to head for Platform C. He held her hand to help lift her from the bench they were seated upon, and did not let go until his train stopped, released its passengers, and new travelers were asked to board. He took a half-step but could not go further. Not without letting go. “I don't want to leave you,” he admitted with half of a breath. She still could not speak, all that came out was a mangled noise that seemed to confuse him, so she pulled him back to her, her chest node pressing against his ribs.

She used telepathy. “Stay.”

She could feel it. He was ready to agree. He was going to quit giving excuses about why he had to leave her. He was about to prove that she was wrong all along. He was looking distantly over her shoulder. She turned to see where he was looking, but over the chaotic crowd, nothing appeared to be worth looking at. She tried to feel from him what he was paying attention to, but she was quickly losing contact. His hand slipped from her grasp. She turned back. He was gone.

Public address speakers spoke in stereophonic sound, as they surrounded her at various distances. “Final boarding at Platform C, red line to Hexyloxy Harbor. Platform A, evening commuter loop arriving on-time in thirteen minutes.” She worked slowly through the moderately-dense crowd, slowly because she did not know where she was headed, and slowly because few would yield to her passage.

“Get back in your ball!” an anonymous voice chided as someone with plenty of space to pass by bumped into her anyway. Someone else nearby wondered why the laws against stray animals were not being enforced. She wove her way to a vending machine in an alcove away from most of the traffic, near where he glanced before he left. Nothing seemed worth looking at, except for a tiny paper crane perched on top of a square metal garbage bin, next to some garbage that someone was too indifferent about to actually put through any of the bin's four openings. Turning around, she faced the machine again. She did not know how it worked, but she could force it to operate telekinetically. It had to look legitimate, though. She did not have any of the things that would make it go, but she brought her hand to one of the slots a few times as if she were putting in the little round shiny things while she sensed its mechanisms. Grace felt a little shameful and dirty doing this, but she must have forgotten her purse. She tapped the button featuring an orange can, keeping up appearances. The machine resisted her—its parts were plated with silver, including the bin that held its coins, but she could still teleport them within the mechanism. One of the larger coins she teleported to the top of the coin shaft and let to fall; a few times, fooling the device into believing that it had been compensated.

A man in a uniform approached her as the machine rumbled. She felt his presence and his intention. The soda fell just in time. She withdrew it and turned around. “Saa!” she shouted, pretending to be startled by the officer. Holding the can in front of her face and lowering her eyes, she struggled to speak their language. “Foh—mai—maas—tugh.”

The officer squinted a little. “Then get it to him and stay close. No unaccompanied pokemon in the terminal. Do you understand me?”

She immediately nodded and cast herself adrift in the crowd until she found an exit, broad double doors that only a few people seemed to be using. In fact, two. The first she did not clearly see behind the many people mulling about, but that person apparently had to force the doors open. The second she got a better look at, since she beat Grace to the door by only a few seconds. She wore a pretty white dress with long, dark blue gloves. She seemed to stop at the door and look around before she stepped through them. Grace wondered what was wrong with the doors as she stepped up to them. When the motion sensor above them failed and she pried them open, she saw what.

She heard a sound of something being bashed, and a voice asking who someone was. Everything was glowing red, brighter and brighter, such that by the time the woman in the dress and whoever entered before her could have been seen, nothing could be seen at all but red glow.

When the glow faded, she found herself in a strange bedroom, standing before a full body mirror. Once more she was wearing the dress she wore to dinner, but this time she was a gardevoir. That changed the fit slightly, especially because of her horns. She looked at her arms. Her flesh was a ghostly white and a striking blue, as it should be, but according to her reflection, her colored skin was green. Instead of a can of orange soda, both held a purse.

A strange voice called from another room, seemingly from beyond the mirror. “Hurry up, thirteen minutes or we'll be late.” Grace squinted at her incorrect reflection, which squinted right back.

“Why are you green?” she asked.

“Why are you blue?” it replied.

Grace stepped forward and reached toward her mirror. The other did likewise. “Are you me?”

“No,” it answered with a look of slight disbelief.

“Are you my—”

“No,” it answered with assertion.

“Then, who?”

“This is so strange. I've got to be hallucinating.” The reflection turned away and shouted through the room's opened door, “Did you slip something into my dinner? Something I'm not really supposed to eat?”

The distant voice called back with a hint of concern. “Of course not! Are you feeling sick? Do you think you need a doctor?”

“No, I'm probably just imagining things. I'll meet you in the car.”

The voice acknowledged.

Grace straightened her dress as her reflection did too. She could not help but to do it.

The green one smirked. “It's bad enough I'm blue in my dreams, but now I'm pretending it while I'm awake.” The reflection swung her arm out to adjust the strap on her purse. It was a snazzy green that complemented her skin's hue and made Grace wonder what her reflection's ball looked like. Grace's arm swung out too, of course, and for a brief moment, her hand and forearm vanished from her sight; the missing part left her with a phantom pain that felt frozen to the bone and burned to a crisp at the same time. She clutched it with an expression of agony when reappeared a split second later, as her reflection brought her own arm within a line of sight through the mirror again.

“Whoa,” said the reflection. “I guess you can't exist outside of my mirror. You have my sympathy so don't hate me for this, but I've got to go now.”

Grace's body was already moving itself to match her reflection's pose when it turned and walked away. Although the room around her seemed normal, a sensation of obliteration passed across Grace's body like a tidal wave as it was drawn into a stride that stepped out of the mirrored universe.

The pain stopped as she collapsed and rolled on sparse grass and soft soil. She opened her eyes and looked up through a canopy of trees, some of which showed signs of damage, as though their limbs had been torn off. She stood slowly and looked around. An invisible trail begged her to follow it into the bushes. She came upon a green-skinned gardevoir, bleeding profusely.

She did not have to ask who it was to be certain. “M… Mom?” Grace turned the gardevoir over. “Oh, Mom!”

The green gardevoir reached up with weak arms and gripped Grace as well as they could as she knelt and took hold of her.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered in her native tongue against Grace's gills, too enervated to establish telepathy. “I made a mistake. I should have trusted the man, but that night, I felt only his surface.” She fell limp.

Grace supported her mother's weight before herself with her own trembling arms. “Mom, what do you mean? James?”

“I decided I would never trust any of them again, after what happened. I didn't even trust the boy, really, but I trusted you would take care of yourself when the time came. I should have taken the time to probe him, and see his inner self. I'll always re—” Her voice faded away.

“Mom! No, don't, you didn't do anything wrong,” Grace panicked as her mother's eyes drifted and closed. “No! Don't leave me again!” Tearfully, she began to collapse. Her surroundings changed into a multicolored slurry of indistinct forms. Her arms closed together as the body they clutched ceased to exist. Smoothly, she rolled forward and sideways onto her back. Her dorsal node dug into the sand. Beach sand.

She opened her eyes, the sun was high and bright, but blocked by a bright white face cloaked in an inky black shadow, as if no ambient light reflected on it. It was as contradictory as it was tremendous.

“You've come too far again. Why?” it asked.

Grace recalled the last time that she heard this voice. “Wh… who are you?”

“No, you are not her. But you ask questions with her voice. Why?”

“I don't know. I don't know what you're talking about.”

The creature raised a gigantic arm and wiggled its bulky fingers. Grace was lifted from the sands and levitated with great force against a tree at the edge of the island's forest, her dorsal horn cutting a gash into its fibrous trunk.

* * *

  
Joe awoke to the sound of a thud and a grunt—having slept on the couch to get away from his bed-mate who had been muttering in her sleep and flailing about all night long—and ran into his bedroom. Grace was pressed flat against the poster on the wall above his bed, her face contorted with some sort of strain.

* * *

  
A piercing psychic power emanating from the creature felt to Grace like it was crushing her brain into a singular point. Finally, it released her, letting her fall from the tree and onto the sand again.

“My apology, and condolences,” it said, stepping backwards before turning about, splashing a wave of sand across Grace and everything else nearby as its tail whipped across the beach's surface, and flying off over and then into the ocean.

Grace was too weakened to lift herself off of the sand, but felt someone helping her to rise.

* * *

  
“Grace! Can you hear me?”

She opened her eyes. She was in Joe's bedroom, being helped by Joe. Burner leaned in through the doorway.

“Grace?”

She got up onto her knees and pulled Joe into a hug. “I don't know what that was, but I'm glad to be back.”

Something purple sank through the ceiling in a pose that suggested it had been taking a siesta. Even its hat was tilted forward, although it flipped back into its normal position once the something quit descending. “That, I tell you, was the most delicious fifteen-hour nightmare I have ever been able to feast on. Look at these!” Marianne jiggled her necklace, glowing with a white so bright that glancing at them would cause a visual after-image. “Overloaded to be honest, and just by being close. If I'd tapped in it probably would've killed me. Sorta. I might have to go pick some fights in the forest before I get fat.”

“Going away sounds good. You should do that,” Grace chided.

Marianne shrugged with a grunt and floated back upward.

Burner saw no way to immediately help and prepared to withdraw. “I was going to make lunch. Interested?”

“Yes!” replied both Joe and Grace. They got up and on their feet. Joe noticed the hole punched into his wall by Grace's dorsal horn when she was pressed against it.

“I assume at least one of you has a good explanation for that?” James now stood in Joe's doorway.

“Not really,” replied both Joe and Grace.

“Okay. This is your own home you're wrecking, and your own to repair. Remember that.” James looked down and away as he turned and left for the kitchen to give the rooster a hand.

* * *

  
“Well of course, Small Fry; I get an e-mail every time there's activity on your account; one of the perks of being a mover and shaker in the industry.” Ulysses put his T.D. on speaker-phone and snapped it back onto his belt before continuing to inspect a rapidash stallion that he was being offered. “Yeah, and I saw the video too. I don't get it. You and Sam were like peas in a pod, excuse me—simmer down, boy. I want to go for a ride and I want to keep my eyebrows.” The stallion lowered its mane flames while Ulysses slung a saddle across its back. Percival related an accurate account of what led to he and Sam's first altercation. “You really did that to him? Then it's good he hit you; you had that coming.” Ulysses mounted the stallion. “Listen to me, boy, because I've worked with all types. If you want to go down the path of a successful trainer and earn a C-Class licensing, you're going to have to come to terms with a few facts. One of those is that most C-Class trainers don't have their first pokemon in their active roster. That said, Sam is a good pokemon with a lot of potential, but you won't make him a better fighter by bullying him. You'll make him a bitter fighter, and you don't want that.” The stallion was becoming annoyed at both being delayed and at Percival's voice coming through the T.D.'s speaker. “No, hush up and listen, I know you won a local on a technicality. That doesn't mean anything. Straighten your ass out and be the trainer he needs, not the trainer you see winning tournaments on television. Now, I'm working, and you should be too.” Ulysses hung up and told the stallion beneath him to show him just how fast he could go without flaring up.

* * *

  
Keys jingled as a woman jammed one into a mail office box. A dragonite, the small facility's resident and only staffer, looked through the hole when she looked inside, and asked if she needed any stamps. Declining, she withdrew the single piece of mail in her box: a post card featuring a typical resort beach photograph and the words, “Wish you were here.” Flipping it over, it read simply, “I want to apologize.”

She tore it into four pieces and cast them into a waste bin as she left. “You damn well should.”

* * *

  
A guard at the gate halted Alice.

She stood as straight and tall as her body allowed. “Hello, I'm here for a prisoner visitation.”

“The only pokemon allowed inside are members of our guard staff.”

“The Chief said it would be okay if I came today at just this time. Please, tell me he wasn't lying to me. Please.”

The guard picked up his radio and, after some discussion and escalation to higher officials, allowed her to enter the grounds.

Prisoners inside were being let to lunch, but a guard picked one out of the line and took him aside, suggesting that he sacrifice his mid-day meal to deal with an issue that had come up. He agreed. Led into the visitation room, he sat behind a transparent plastic partition and wondered who would come to see him, and why outside of the normal visitation hours. He rose from his seat and leaned with his palms against the plastic when the reason walked in.

It skipped toward him with a smile and placed its paws to the plastic, too.

“Allie? You've—”

“Found happiness.”

They took seats and mostly Prisoner H1432 listened to his Allie's beautiful voice as she told him about how she found a wonderful mate and a caring family, how she used the skills he had taught her to find employment and conduct her affairs, and that one of the contingency plans they had discussed seemed to be working toward its desired end.

“I'm sure I saw you last Halloween, on television. I liked your costume. And how you phrased what you said.”

Alice squirmed with delight. “It's a rule: never reveal a weakness you cannot protect. They didn't test it, fortunately, but I would rather someone throw a ball at me and fail than suspect I was an unclaimed inheritance.”

“About that. My T.D. is still in my safe deposit in the bank. If you want to trade yourself and truly become a part of your new family, you can.”

Alice whimpered faintly. “I'll have to think about that. I like having no trainer.” Her ears twitched and her sensors splayed. “No, not that I don't like you; I love you, Daddy, but—”

“But, you don't want to give up your freedom.”

She nodded.

“Good. Never give it up. Everything I tried to teach you was so you would have as much as you could get. Do think about trading yourself to them, but only if it will give you more freedom to enjoy and more happiness to share with them.”

A guard standing in a corner called out. “Time's up!”

Alice glanced at a clock while another guard came behind Prisoner H1432. “But, I was promised twenty minutes. It's only been ten!”

“You're only in here according to The Chief's pleasure, and he said you only paid for half of your time.”

Prisoner H1432 stood and asked, “Paid?” as his guard led him away.

Alice climbed onto the table and leaned against the plastic. The guard on her side strode up to pull her away. “I love you Daddy!” she shouted, tearing up.

“No more tears, Allie. You still have one duty left: make the world a better—” The door closed behind the guard after the prisoner was removed.

Prisoner H1432 re-joined the population as they were returning to their cells after their meal. Prisoner W3917 recognized the guard that brought him back. He liked to be bribed with a pack of smokes from time to time.

* * *

  



	13. Phobias

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 13: Phobias.

* * *

  
The young man was touching every inch of Grace's flesh, and there was nothing she could do about it without being charged with assault, or at least getting into serious trouble. He started with her extremities—arms and legs—and worked inward. He even pinched her gills. Finally he lifted her skirt over his head and spread her legs apart.

“…intact,” came his slightly muffled voice.

“Thanks for noticing,” she growled through her teeth. “Are you done down there? Hey!” She quickly drew her knees up and together, and as her balance shifted she fell onto her back.

Doctor Haskin withdrew his head from beneath Grace's skirt as she rolled away. “No signs of disease,” he examined three small, moist, padded strips held in his gloved right hand, “swab indications all negative. Yes, done.”

She crossed her legs as she righted herself. “Good. I still don't forgive you for the first time, you know.”

He required a moment to remember the event that she referenced. “I have a job to do, little time to do it in, and I can't assume every pokemon that comes in here is going to obey a stranger.”

“You didn't have to be so rough, though. You just shoved me over like it was nothing.”

Doctor Haskin had moved to Ocimene because there was a position available; he was still uncomfortable taking critique from his patients since a talking pokemon would be a dubious claim wherever he went through veterinary school. As usual, he mostly ignored his vocal patients except as not to annoy them. “Since your trainer is not present, do you wish to receive the oral report.”

“I haven't been allowed to say ‘no’ to any of your demands until now, what changed?”

“Nothing. Early level 38. Overall condition is fine and you are cleared for competition, but I'd like to see you back in three months instead of twelve. Since you are in active training, your trainer is supposed to be a little more concerned about your well-being than the League-requisite yearly check-up.”

Grace crossed her arms. “You'll excuse me if my first impression of you and your practice discourages me from looking forward to being here. Is that all?”

“No, we have one more thing to discuss.” Doctor Haskin drew a task chair beside his examination table and sat, giving Grace a slight height advantage. “Your skin is not sloughing properly. Am I right in guessing you're being fed on a human diet instead of properly-formulated pokemon food?”

Grace bristled at that distinction, and at the thought of what typical pokemon kibble looked, smelled, and tasted like.

“I'm going to write a prescription. It isn't anything special, mostly a selenium supplement plus a few trace extras. One dose with a meal daily for a week, minimum, longer if you don't start to shed a layer. Also, take at least one berry a day as a snack. Nutritional deficiency is something our machines can't fix, and for your species in particular, there's a long-term risk of losing the ability to regenerate your skirt and developing other related conditions.” Doctor Haskin tucked a report card into a slot in the back of Joe's trainer's device and handed it to her opened, displaying a note about her prescription.

“Thank you for the warning. Is that all?”

He rolled away. “You can get that filled on-site: just head down the other branch of the hallway, there's a small pharmacy at the end. Take care of yourself, Miss Rainier.”

His sarcastic tone re-iterated that he felt talking pokemon were somewhat uppity, but she liked the sound of being addressed by her title and surname, even if that surname was not registered.

As Grace left the examination room, Dr. Haskin closed her file on his terminal, triggering a chime in the lobby and causing a number displayed on the wall to change from ‘63’ to ‘64.’ Alice turned to enter the medical wing hallway and accidentally blocked Grace's exit.

“Hey, how'd it go, Grace?”

“Okay?” Grace shrugged, “I hate him, but he didn't strap me down and try to steal an organ, so I guess… Alice?”

Alice straightened her posture, which had sagged slightly. She spoke in a low volume as she brushed by Grace. “That's good. I don't like that kind of doctor.”

Inside the examination room, Alice hopped onto the table and offered a trainer's device to the doctor. Haskin glanced over it as he settled it into his computer terminal's dock. It seemed like a pitifully out-dated and entry-level—if not intentionally expendable—device, yet its shell had a strange custom inlay of a blue-yellow-blue stripe pattern. “Two in a row, pokemon coming in without trainers,” he commented, “I'm starting to wonder if they're needed at all, Miss—”

“ ‘Alice’ is fine. I'm sorry if I'm supposed to have my trainer here. He can't be, though.”

Haskin read a notice on his screen as she spoke. “And, I see why. It's been quite a while since your last exam, too.”

“If you're thinking I was being neglected or abused, please, don't. It wasn't like that.”

Haskin cleared his throat unnecessarily, “Let's just get started,” rose from his chair, and drew a tongue depressor from a nearby jar.

* * *

  
Grace twisted her shoulders a little, and her torso with them, studying how adjusting her antennae's alignment affected how easily she could sense the emotional states of employees working at the pokecenter's pharmacy. A familiar psychic presence caught her attention, and she turned to face its source as it spoke in a harsh tone, “Pick-up, Fairbanks.”

The pharmacist glanced up and nodded.

Grace smiled a little as Roscoe stood at the counter beside her. “Fairbanks? Is that a registered last name, or are you borrowing it?”

“Registered,” Roscoe projected.

“Does the doctor give you attitude about it?”

Roscoe touched one of his spoons within its bracer to target a quick scan of her mind for clarification. “I do not see Dr. Haskin regularly. We prefer a private practitioner.”

Grace looked back toward a pharmacist, who was approaching with a small and generously filled paper bag, plus a lone bottle in his other hand.

“A pokemon with your own last name and your own doctor. You've got a nice setup, Roscoe.”

Roscoe took his sack and thanked the pharmacist aloud before returning to telepathy. “Having either of those is often a sign that something has gone wrong along the way.” Grace received her vial and trailed behind Roscoe. He said nothing more to her and departed via the teleportation room.

* * *

  
Grace watched a news program in the lobby until Alice emerged with a small bag pinched between her thumb-claw and her trainer's trainer's device. Rising and gliding to her side, the gardevoir noticed that Alice was feeling down and spoke with a chipper tone, hoping to offset it. “It looks like no one's getting out of here without being prescribed something. What'd you get, Alice?”

Alice's ears drooped even lower than they already were; Grace sensed her embarrassment directly as well. “Anti-fungal washing powder. I thought the itching was because it hasn't rained in a while, but,” she trailed off and looked down at the floor mat.

Together, they exited the pokecenter. “Rained?” Grace asked.

“I don't have running water, and won't anytime soon.”

“I know you like doing things on your own, but I feel like you're misplacing your pride. I mean, you're choosing to let your hygiene slip at the whim of the weather instead of admitting you need to borrow our bathroom at least a couple times a week. We're supposed to be family now, remember, Sis?”

“Yes, but… there were some really rough times. Daddy always told me there was nothing lower in the world than a moocher, no matter how rich or poor he was.”

Grace put a palm on Alice's shoulder. “I think he's right about that. So, it's a good thing you didn't ask us; we invite you. Besides, if you're thinking about being rich or poor, which do you think costs more? A few gallons of tap water, or that prescription?”

Alice's ears twitched. “Actually, regular bathing is going to cost me.”

Grace could not figure out how without a hint, and settled on a quizzical facial expression.

“One of my regulars at Song's. He likes to, well, smell me. And, since the dry spell, my ‘lucario bouquet,’ as he calls it, has been getting stronger. His tips have been getting bigger, with it.”

Grace started walking instead of gliding. “That's, that's very—”

“I know. But, since I refuse to do the other things that some of Mrs. Song's employees are often expected to do, I kinda have to put up with it, whether I get tipped or not.”

Alice's emotional state was conflicted and embarrassed. Grace was unclear about what she was implying, and tried to divert the subject. “Haven't you thought about getting a different job?”

“Of course. Every day. I'd like to try cooking since that's something else I'm pretty good at, but you can't work in a kitchen without a clean bill of health; ‘Any pokemon that serves food to the public must be authorized and up-to-date with medical clearance.’ ” She gestured with the paper sack she carried. “Not this time. Besides, I think you're supposed to be owned by someone who works there, too. I don't know how it works for a fiduciary.”

Despite her lexicon and a pokemon's innate ability to understand spoken language, Grace became confused enough that Alice sensed it in her aura.

“Because Daddy owns me and he granted me power of attorney over part of his property—myself—it could mean that if I was hired, the employee-owner thing would take care of itself. Or, it could mean nothing. It might depend on who is the judge hearing the case, I guess. Either way, it doesn't matter right now. I need to clear this rash and to find a place that will hire a pokemon coming in off the street, first. It's funny, if you want to talk about pride: humans are so impressed with how well they take care of us that they assume if a pokemon doesn't have someone giving it a home, it must want to live in the wild and they do whatever they can to make that her only option.”

Grace proposed they stroll around town and look for other options as they worked their way to the Rainier house.

* * *

  
Doubled automatic doors glided open and shut with hisses as Ivana entered her suite, truly a floor all to herself except for a necessary maintenance area. The level was a three-story marvel, created by the greatest artificial habitat designers in the business to form a space that was as much a luxury hotel room as it was a re-creation of the sparse forested peaks of mountains her rarefied lineage hailed from.

Disappointed by the news that her latest attempt to become a mother had failed, she stomped through artificial grass and artificial snow on the floor, between a number of artificial trees, to find her way to her bath, which featured an inset tub large enough for her to lounge in four times over. It had an array of shower heads hanging above it. She pecked a button to activate both tub-filling jets and those shower heads above, and another button to choose a temperature. She selected one of its higher settings, one which would painfully scald any human and many pokemon, but was necessary to overpower her own nature and let her enjoy a relaxing warm soak. Steam billowed up in plumes while she preened before a mirror until a chime indicated that her tub was ready for her.

Beneath the trickle cascading from the shower heads, Ivana twisted around to lie on her back, her head resting on an elegant pillow. Singing a few short but complicated songs, she activated her computer vocally, instructed it to shuffle one of her infrequently used play-lists, and started browsing Ocimene's trainer database. As the deep tones of the first song's vocalist reverberated through the waters of her tub, she remembered a chance encounter that seemed feather-worthy at the time.

She examined his medical reports, the stock whence he came, his league record, and footage from his bouts. He did not speak to her when she met him, but his voice in the recordings was enticingly sonorous. Unlike the human singing through her bath's speakers, however, this “Burner,” I.D. № FB-34862/B, spoke with that delightful trill that only bird-types could master. She cooed and imagined him romancing her for a little while, before demanding her mind skip to the good parts. Her wings and tail stirred the water as she tried to satisfy herself, but that only made the water colder and ruined the moment.

Ivana put the thermostat on its maximum setting, killed the music, and retrieved a useful and somewhat customized accessory, inserting it with some difficulty. Back in the water, which was well re-warmed, if not ready to boil, she demanded the computer scroll up a suitable cinema and activated her device. Fortunately for her current desires, pornography featuring male blaziken mating using a dominant human's technique were not too difficult to find. Unfortunately, they were universally with humans or pokemon with human-like bodies, but they would have to do. Very few bird-types would allow themselves to be mated on their backs due to a heightened risk of accidental injury. She knew it was merely her kink, but felt no shame by justifying it to herself—as she would submissively raise her tail like a common hen for no male that had not proven himself well worthy of her boon.

The articuno was too distracted to hear footsteps approaching from the maintenance access door. That was okay; he respected her enough to let her finish.

Breathing heavily and holding no rein on her abilities, the nigh-boiling shower rained down thousands of frozen droplets that accumulated into a small heap upon her breast until she achieved the satisfaction she sought. That heap did not last long beneath the shower after she relaxed.

Maximilian waited in silence, folding a paper crane to bide time, until Ivana removed her implement and discontinued the showering flow. He cleared his throat as an ice breaker, capturing her attention.

Ivana glanced at Max, pecked a few buttons, and sang to her computer. It loaded a somewhat classical play-list at low volume, and activated its translation software.

She sang again and her computer spoke for her. “Remove clothes. Join me. Water temperature, we compromise.”

Max approached but avoided direct eye contact. “You are interested in more than watching me bathe.”

“You can't give what I want. We can have fun together, despite.” The computer was oddly adept at capturing and translating her inflected insinuations.

Max faced away with a blush. “I'm not attracted to your type.”

“Ice type? Bird type? Pokemon type? Female type?”

He turned swiftly to glare at her, “All of the above!”

“I'm sorry. I won't give you what you like. We can have fun together, despite.” The computer was oddly adept at capturing and translating her inflected insinuations.

“Madame, Mr. Well received his copy of your medical report, and sent me to ensure that you were taking your disappointment in stride and to provide any emotional support you might seek. That does not reduce me to the station of,” he glanced at her discarded toy, “one of those.”

Ivana's wings splashed as she thrust them out of the water and slapped them back down, freezing the water's surface into a rippled plate of ice when they touched; an action that both directed her anger and provided a convenient platform to help her climb out of her tub. She came upon her feet and with a few swift paces thrust her body against his, squawking forcefully into his ear. She stomped away and began drying off by freezing the water in her feathers and shaking it loose as tiny crystals while a translation came through. “I offered sharing emotional support equally. You don't decline for your tastes. You decline because you want superiority. Otherwise, you see yourself as one of those. Leave my parlor, Employee. Leave now!”

Maximilian did so. Ivana put away her toy, powered down her bathroom's luxuries, equipped herself with a small electronic device that clipped onto her left wing, and went for a long flight to blow off steam.

* * *

  
Mister Plovo's voice carried across his classroom with ease. “Joe, you've been tripled-up for the lab projects, right?” Joe confirmed his chemistry teacher's foggy day-old memory. “Move to table seven. A new student's joining the class; you get to bring her up to speed.”

Solymar chuckled as Joe gathered his materiel. “Delightful. You can spill chemicals all over someone else's things, now.”

Joe squinted. “Delightful. You can lift a finger and do some of the actual work for yourself, now.”

She muttered an insult as he strutted away. Actual work? She just got her nails done yesterday.

“Did you have trouble finding the room?” asked Mr. Plovo as a young girl with striking red hair entered the classroom. She nodded and approached the teacher's desk for a brief sidebar, after which he introduced Scarlet Foley and sent her to her seat at Table Seven.

Joe attempted to introduce himself once she settled in, but she shushed him: “Don't ruin the surprise.”

Mr. Plovo confirmed his attendance roll, half-skipping Scarlet whose presence was already verified. He soon came to the R's, and after receiving acknowledgment from Joe Rainier, Scarlet extended a hand and whispered, “Nice to meet you, Joe.” He shook her hand gently and smiled with a slight blush as he repeated the salutation back to her.

Solymar leaned back for a better view of their exchange. Too far, interrupting Mr. Plovo as he began to describe the day's lesson plan with a loud thud when her knees slammed against the bottom of her lab bench, saving her from falling off of her stool backwards.

“Are you having difficulties with the direction of gravity in this room, Miss Delgado?”

She adjusted her posture. “No, Mr. Plovo.”

“Good. If this happens again, we will skip ahead to our discussion of how adhesives work and see if we can't keep you in your seat. Now, as I was saying before we spontaneously remembered that our laboratory stools aren't recliner chairs, we would intuitively expect from our understanding of the octet rule that fluorine…”

“Psst, do you know her?” Scarlet whispered to her neighbor.

Joe glanced across the room and whispered back, “Barely. We have some mutual friends, but we aren't pals or anything.”

“Mister Rainier!” shouted his teacher.

Joe looked at everyone looking at him.

Mister Plovo melodramatically hung his head. “Am I already regretting this arrangement?”

Scarlet dove in to save. “I'm sorry, Mr. Plovo; it was my fault. I asked him to fill me in on what we were talking about. My old class wasn't this advanced.”

“Understandable, but this is lecture time so I have the floor. We all must pay attention to the lesson or you won't be alone in falling behind. See me after class and we can figure out what material you need to cover to get on-track with us, and save your inter-pupil conversations for the laboratory half of the period. Okie-dokie?” Scarlet nodded and Mr. Plovo resumed. “Good. So, last week's episode ended with a cliffhanger as our heroes were naming the elements known to be one electron short of a full octet, and the fate of our world rested in Mr. Rainier's capable hands. What, daresay, is the fifth element in the halogen family?”

“Uhh… Iodi—”

Mister Plovo activated an electronic device in his hand that featured buttons which, when pressed, emitted one of a number of rude noises. “Books closed, pencils out; that just bought everyone a pop quiz.”

A collective groan washed over the class.

“Come on, Joe,” Scarlet chided, “even I knew that one and this is the first time I've showed up for this class all year.”

With expert timing in the art of acting when no one is looking, Solymar beaned Joe with a wadded up sheet of paper.

* * *

  
“Are you two okay down there?” Asha leaned around a shelf and saw a gardevoir wearing an expression of intense concentration and a lucario with splayed antennae, a tucked tail, and a nervous tremor.

Grace ignored the shopkeeper's question. “He's still in the van. I can hardly read him, but he's going to give up if he doesn't see us soon.”

An electronic chime indicated a new customer's arrival. Another shopkeeper welcomed him. Grace was completely focused on the man in the van, but Alice sensed that the entering aura belonged to an acquaintance. Her shaking stopped, but she stayed low and hidden behind short aisle shelving.

Grace opened her eyes. “I'm losing him. He must have given up.”

Alice rose with Grace's aid. “I hope so. I've felt auras like that before.” She looked around the store and noticed whose familiar presence she felt. No longer invested in a tenuous connection with a stranger's mind, Grace detected him too.

The second employee flipped through a worn book with a stained fabric cover. “Well, it's sure seen some travel. Not sure about that city name, certainly isn't part of any region I know of. Might be one of those other side of the world places; you know, you hear about explorers wanting to discover new pokemon, go sailing or flying off the map, come back talkin' 'bout funny languages and wilds where there are no pokemon at all. The other regions thought Ocimene was myth-o-logical for a while, there, too, so it could happen. Anyway, if you want to sell it or trade it, I can give you something for it.”

Sam declined. “Maybe another day. I hoped you might know of more like it, or at least where it came from.”

Grace and Alice approached while Job left his counter and joined Asha in straightening their shelves.

“Hello,” Alice began, “it's nice to see you someplace other than the park circle for a change.”

Sam nodded and looked to Grace. “Have you two developed an interest in literature?”

“Not exactly,” Grace replied, “but we've both developed a sense that warns us when trouble is coming. Alice felt a bad aura behind us when we were on the sidewalk. We ducked in here and hid. A man driving a yellow van passed by slowly. I caught a glimpse of him and got a weak connection, just enough to know that he parked for a while at the end of the block and waited to see if we would leave before he did.”

Sam waved goodbye to the clerks and exited, leading the girls out and holding the door for them. “You were probably right to hide. During the summer, when we were in Fenchone, one of the trainers we fought against lost a smeargle, stolen because it had red spots. Alice, your colors may be normal, but your species is a little hard to come by in this region.”

“I know how it is, Sam. How it really is. That's why I knew we needed to go someplace safe.”

Sam nodded. “I need to go home, before I'm noticed for being not noticed.”

Grace re-joined the conversation. “We're headed the same way. Well, if that guy shows up again and means business, I'm ready to fight him off if I have to, and I don't think Alice would be a push-over, either, now that she and Burner have been toughening each other up. With you here, too, do you think anyone would try to snatch up three pokemon off of the street?”

Sam tilted his head briefly. “I don't think that sort of person would bother with a near-sighted starter, but there are people for whom stealing pokemon is their daily work. They wouldn't be fighting for play like we do, they would be fighting for keeps.”

The gardevoir recalled the first play fight she watched. “I know how that is, Sam.” She thought back farther. “So does my mother.”

* * *

  
With the home's furniture pushed out of his way, Burner mimicked the moves of well-trained and well-choreographed combatants in a kung-fu movie. Most of their moves were more about flash than practicality, but a flashy finish to a one-sided fight could not hurt, and remembering how well Sam had learned to dodge and counter his repertoire, something unexpected could become something advantageous. He threw fast punches, turned fast twists, performed recoveries from falls with varying levels of deft. A little too into the moment, he ignited a kick that scorched a small spot on the ceiling. He stopped and pondered, wondering if there could be a way to fix it before anyone noticed. Burner was about to look in the garage for any old paint tins that might match the interior when he heard the doorbell ring. A wide patch of frost on the window caught his eye as he answered it.

As soon as he opened the door a cyan form barged in, singing a complicated song. The device on Ivana's wing offered translation automatically, but for another pokemon, and bird especially, it was not required.

“I like your moves,” it spoke as Ivana pressed herself against Burner, forcing him to take a few steps back before standing fast against her. She pushed harder, but he did not budge. “And you can hold your ground when you want to. I like that.”

Burner slipped a claw between his belly and her breast to spread them apart. “I remember, you belong to the old man who was here. He wanted to take Grace. What does he want now?”

“This visit is about what I want. I want to trade. I want you to help me breed. It's a fair deal; I will be lucky to succeed, while your pleasure is guaranteed.” She exhaled coldly into his face, causing him to wince and turn away, and allowing her to covertly cast attract with a gesture of her right wing. “Your master doesn't deny you a male's pleasure, does he?” She pressed against him again. He was warmer now. When he answered negatively, she pushed a little harder in both ways. “Perhaps he pleasures you. Do you experiment together? Don't be ashamed; it's natural curiosity.”

He tried to push her away again, but something restrained him. With both hands he again failed, and instead began rubbing his talons through her feathers. “No, he—we—don't do that.”

Ivana squirmed in response to his touch, flagging her long, ribbon-like tail feathers a couple of times before silently reprimanding herself in her mind and regaining her self control. “Then what do you do when you feel the urge? A young, obviously healthy male like you—” His stance stiffened, he pulled his arms to his sides, and he glanced away. “—you… do nothing? Nothing but suffer and wait it out? You truly can hold your ground when you want to. I really like that.” She pressed against him mightily and forced him back another step, cooing a giggle as he jerked to catch his displaced center of gravity. Although they offered no grip, she embraced him with her wing tips. The air that filled spaces between them and stirred with her motion brought Burner to realize his body's reaction to the things she was saying and doing. She stepped forward again, letting her feathers fill that gap between them completely, at the cost of taking a somewhat uncomfortable pose, since her body was not built to stand erect like his. He was warmer still. “Don't you want to let go, learn what this feeling,” she raised up on her toes to provide Burner with a sensation of her feathers gliding against his body, “becomes when you share it?”

Burner panted heavily. Roles reversed, his exhalation washed over Ivana's face, but its heat was not a cause for recoil; it merely made her feathers stand on end for a second. “Yes. But not now, and not with you.”

Ivana settled down from her toed posture. Her body wanted to lean forward, but Burner was again immobile, so instead her neck curved to follow the contour of Burner's chest; her beak rested in the fluff of his chest's mane feathers. She spoke indignantly. “Why not?”

“I have chosen my mate.”

The articuno laughed haughtily as she stepped away, but only by a meter. She spoke more elaborately, such that her translating device could not keep up. “I didn't say I wanted you to be my mate, although with a little training you might be worth keeping. I said I want you to breed me. That's why you should do it. No obligation implied, your happy home life here won't change. Your chosen mate or even your master won't need to know if you don't want to tell and we're careful about when we do it. How long do you intend to stay pent-up before she lets you do what mates do? And, if you aren't doing it together, are you really mates?”

Burner thought back to their interaction the night Alice painted the walls of their room. They did not couple, thanks to her vigilance, but they did share pleasure, and who was this fowl to question it? “Yes, we are. And what we do and don't is our choice.”

“But you don't mate.”

“We are not ready for an egg.”

Ivana laughed again. “That's human talk. That's what happens when you let them make you talk like a human. I'll give you a pardon this time, though, since your file shows you were hatched with it. You are a pokemon, she, I surely hope, is a pokemon, too. If you don't want eggs, leave them in the woods; I've watched all your gym videos, anything that's half You will be able to fend for itself. Or, leave them at a pokecenter. Sell them or give them away, if you think they should suffer human ownership from day-one.”

“We don't live like that. Wild pokemon may do what they want, but we—we do what we want, too. We do want our family to grow, but only when we are sure we can give our eggs the kind of love that we received when we became parts of this family. If what you said is how you believe an egg should be treated, I don't want to give you one; I don't want you to ever have one. You aren't welcome here.” Burner pointed toward the door.

“You want me to leave?” Ivana stepped forward. “Make me, tough guy.”

Burner intended to strong-arm her to the door, but he lost the will to do so as he made eye contact. Her attraction was in full effect. Somewhat annoyed by his uncooperative antics, she swallowed a little pride and decided to taunt him, for fun and to put him in a more physical mood. “Here, I'll make it easy,” she turned to face the door and leaned forward, raising her tail and wiggling her hips. “Come on, blaze-kick my ass through that doorway. Or, you can do something else to it, if you would like to.” She looked back, he stood fast but the effect she wanted to see was coming into full view. She came about, kicked the door shut, walked back to him, and embraced him. He could not help but do the same when he tried yet again to force her away. “There are some things about humans I like, like how they make love. Did your master give you a bed? Let's go there. Show me what your body wants to do with your mate's body.”

He glanced toward his room. He did not want to move, but he could not stop her from pushing him inside it. Still furnished with only old spare bedding, Burner tripped on his make-shift futon as she bullied him, causing him to fall flat. The consequential presentation delighted Ivana. “I was hoping to be on the bottom, but there's always next time. And I promise you, one taste and you're going to be hooked.”

* * *

  
“Hey, Joe!” Scarlet ran up behind Joe as he exited the school grounds wondering why his big red escort was not there to meet him. “How did you do on the pop quiz?”

“I don't know, I'll find out tomorrow.”

“You have to know. Twenty questions, you know the ones you got right because those are the ones where you say ‘I know this’ and write the correct answer down; multiply by five per cent, that's your score.”

Joe's silence answered for him.

“Sounds to me like you need a study buddy. Where do you live? I might be willing to help you out for a reasonable fee.”

“Fee?”

Scarlet raised her arms and placed her hands behind her head, causing them to disappear into the loose curls of her hair. “I accept snack foods, drinks in single serving bottles, all major credit cards, and occasionally favors, but only when I know I can trust someone.”

“I've got some League credits left over—”

“A trainer? Ewww. I'm never going to catch a break, am I?” Scarlet walked away with a hastened pace, turning once to blow Joe a raspberry and cast a finger-wagging wave.

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Grace and Alice continued onward as Sam walked up the path to his house. “Do you feel that?” Grace asked of Alice.

“Yes. It's like a fight, but not.” Alice's antennae raised. “And it's coming from your home.”

Grace took Alice by her wrist and glided forward, almost pulling her friend off of her feet. “Our home.”

As the porch came within sight, Grace noticed that the window near the front door was wet and garnished with a little frost. Grace teleported herself inside, intending to unlock the door for Alice, but Alice turned its unlocked knob and entered as the glow around Grace faded. A double voice, one of a bird pokemon and another of a synthesizer, spoke from Burner's room. “Quit fussing. When you make me miss, it hurts both of us.”

Alice and Grace tossed their medication onto the telephone's table and appeared in Burner's doorway. Alice stood in silence, but Grace's gasp alerted Ivana, who twisted her neck to see.

She eyed both for a second. “A lousy little lucario? You're not on his master's roster. You must be the one he's been saving himself for. Good, you watch me take what you were too human to share.” Ivana forced her body down on Burner again, but failed to capture him. Hoping for a dramatic moment, she had used more strength than before, making both grunt with pain as Burner writhed to the side, causing each's nether to merely collide with its other.

Burner glanced through the gap between his body and his assailant's, seeing the shock and horror on Alice's face. “Ali—” Burner cried out as Ivana flexed her gripping talons into his flesh and re-positioned herself. “—help me, I can't…”

Alice's sixth sense lit up in her mind. Burner was about to fail; Ivana, to succeed. Alice also sensed Ivana's strength. Although she knew articuno was a legendary species, she had never felt one's aura before. It intimidated her. But, she was not a riolu anymore and she was done with being intimidated. Striking the spikes on her paws together against the one on her chest and scraping them along its length, Alice generated a metal-sound that enervated everyone in the room. Recognizing that her Fighting-type repertoire was almost worthless against a flying-type, she bared her steely claws and lunged at the recovering articuno. Ivana released her grip on Burner, stepping off and away to let Alice's swipe catch nothing but an air current. Alice stumbled, trying to make another attack without tripping over Burner's vulnerable form when she felt that air current breeze around again. With only a couple flaps of her wings, Ivana got off the ground, entered a spin, and whipped up a hurricane that slammed Alice against the wall, knocking her unconscious. Even in the living room, loose objects fared little better as the compression wave rebounded and entered the home proper.

Ivana started to laugh, but choked up as Grace targeted her with a confuse-ray. Then, Ivana laughed again, with greater contempt. Grace sensed Ivana's plan to attack while her laugh served as a distraction. Kicking herself backwards into a hovering glide, Grace pulled the door shut telekinetically as she passed through. With a loud thud it splintered and fell away as it took the brunt of Ivana's sheer-cold, intended to end the girl's interference. Ivana stomped through the broken-through doorway, preparing another attack.

Burner leapt through the doorway behind her, delivering a blaze-kick to the back of Ivana's head. She stumbled and fell halfway to the floor. Grace shivered as the temperature in the room dropped suddenly. Burner attempted to approach Ivana, intending to make good on that offer to evict, but she sprang up when he touched her, spitting a stream of icy fluid that immediately froze on his body, immobilizing his upper half. She knocked him away with a brush of her wing and cursed something that her computer could not interpret. His momentum sent his head into the side of James' liqueur cabinet, shattering its door's glass. She turned her gaze to Grace.

The gardevoir knew that her only alternative attack was magical-leaf, which meant nothing to her foe. She prepared to teleport away, just to escape this enemy, when everything began fading to a purple shade and turned into a blur. She felt immediately disoriented as the world swung around her in a split second. Then, the blur was normally colored. Then, cyan, darkness, and absolute brightness in a flash; all this, accompanied by an ear-splitting shriek.

Grace was on the carpet. She rolled over a little and looked to see Ivana suspended in the air, entangled by tendrils that coursed with electricity. The legend thrashed in the air until her left leg touched ground and provided a path for the current to reach earth. Ivana lashed out with an ice beam, and Marianne immediately returned the favor, whipping sharp crystals of a few semi-frozen tendrils around Ivana's neck, and pulling them partially through while strangling the bird.

Alice's bloody nose dripped onto the carpet as she struggled to crawl out of Burner's room. She ignored the action but three meters away and went to Burner, trying to shake him awake. She nestled her muzzle beneath his beak, defrosted by his weak but ever-warm respiration, and whispered, “I'm sorry, B; I tried.”

Ivana whipped her neck around, untangling herself and sending the ghost into a tumble. She shook her head and let some blood drain from her beak. Looking up at her current enemy, Ivana caught a shadow-ball that bowled her over.

Marianne looked around the room. Grace was standing in the corner beside Joe's room, feeling terrified and impotent. The irony of Grace's fear helping her to power her attacks was not lost on Marianne, but this battle was out of the gardevoir's league. “Teleport to Percival's house, come back in exactly one minute. I'm about to show Snowflake my ugly side.”

Grace nodded in agreement and vanished as Ivana started to stand again and as Marianne's necklace glowed pure white. A haunting scream managed to follow Grace through her teleport. She appeared in Delilah's kitchen unannounced. Mrs. Finnegan was preparing a sandwich for her son's impending arrival from school. Frankie was getting busy with a banana.

“Wha—hey, now you know you're welcome to visit anytime, girl, but I'd appreciate you ringing the doorbell before you come in as a courtesy.”

“I'm sorry, things just got really out of hand.”

Delilah's eyebrows raised when she got a look at Grace's face. “No kidding. You're so pale you look like you'd seen a ghost. And knowing your usual skin-tone and situation, that's saying something.”

“I wish I'd seen a ghost. I'm used to that, now. Something, some big blue bird pokemon is in our house. It tried to,” Grace glanced around and sensed through the walls to be sure Li'l Sis was out of earshot, and whispered, “rape Burner. Alice and I came home and caught her on top of him. She knocked out Alice with one hit and she tried to freeze me but missed. Burner stopped her from taking another shot at me but she knocked him out, too. Then, Marianne came in and electrocuted her and told me to go here and come back in a minute and,” Grace took a deep breath, closing her eyes and facing upward, “I hope she has a plan.”

Delilah could hardly believe Grace's report. “I haven't heard about pokemon breaking into people's houses and doing things like that in years. Not unless they were told to by a crooked trainer.”

Grace looked at Delilah with a serious stare. “Remember the men who came through our backyards? The ones who killed my mother after she left me with Joe? They worked for this blue bit—bird's owner.” Estimating a minute had passed, Grace returned to her living room, rudely leaving Delilah hanging. She went straight to Burner and Alice, finding both unconscious. There was no trace of Marianne or the invader, only pools of melted ice and splatters of crimson. She peeked into the pokemon room and found nothing but disruption. She tried to sense emotional presence, but felt only darkness surrounding her. Darkness was surrounding her. Struggling, she wrenched herself away from the tendrils that descended upon her.

“Hey, let me feed. I need some more juice. I still have to haul the trash away. You, on the other hand, need to deal with them. Burner has a ball, but you'll have to carry Alice. Don't forget, she's a Steel-type; they're denser than they look.”

Grace held out a hand and focused to teleport Burner's ball into her grasp. She felt strange recalling him. Alice, however, “I don't think I can do this. I mean, it's such a long way to the pokecenter.”

“What? Were you thinking of walking? I checked them out. They need help right now. Unlike me, they are part of your family, aren't they?”

“Yes, but, how? I can't teleport that far by myself, much less carrying someone too.”

Marianne became visibly furious and leaned in closer with every statement. “Listen to me you pathetic sack of psychic garbage! You are going to pick that lucario up and sling her over your shoulder, you are going to close your eyes, you are going to reach out with that chest mounted emerald of yours, you're going to find the silver posts at the pokecenter, you are going to teleport there, you are going to pass out about two seconds afterward, and when you wake up, maybe you'll find out they pulled through intact if the center's crew is Johnny-on-the-spot about things like this.” Marianne shoved Grace toward Alice.

With a grunt, Grace hefted Alice up and over her narrow shoulder, forcing her body to twist and curve and to receive a gash from a lucario spike in the process. She squinted and strained. “I, I can't do this. I can't levitate her weight and sense the posts and teleport there at the same time. It's—”

Marianne appeared before Grace as she opened her eyes, losing her tenuous vision of the pokecenter posts, three tiny specks far off in a hazy distance. “Grace,” the ghost spoke with a terrifyingly calm and level tone, “when the time came to save your life, did your mother ever think for a moment that she couldn't?” Marianne flew through Grace's body, chilling her to the bone. Somehow, it was colder than even Ivana's ices.

As Marianne drifted toward the garage—where a troublemaker lay unconscious, victim of a powerful perish song and a few other forms of mistreatment—she saw a bright flash behind her, surrounding her own purple shadow cast on the wall she was about to drift through.

“Good work, Kid. I knew you had it in you.”

* * *

  
Joe stood in his doorway, stunned by a disaster before him. Granted, aside from one internal door and the glass of his father's liqueur cabinet, nothing was totally broken so much as disarrayed, but the blood and general sogginess of the carpet discouraged walking inside even if only to survey the damage. He worked his way around most of the mess and entered the kitchen. A piece of the pokemon room's door rested on the table with an abbreviated message scrawled into its surface, likely done with a shard of broken glass that lay beside it.

“G AT P/C W/ B + A”

Joe deciphered it and placed a phone call on his trainer's device.

“Yes,” replied an attendant after hearing Joe's query, “we received all three via the teleportation room a little while ago. Do you know what happened? I see. Your gardevoir is exhausted from performing a long teleport and had one injury that required stitches. She's resting in our lobby; if you bring her ball she can be restored to full health immediately. Your blaziken was lucky, there was no nerve damage and the rejuvenation machine did most of the hard work. He should avoid straining his neck for a while just to be safe, but there should be no lasting complications. I can't disclose information about the lucario. It's not under your account. But, I will say, whoever owns it needs to bring its ball in immediately.”

* * *

  
Crying-Tree alerted his master, despite it being an interruption to his meditations. Iwamoto shuffled into his backyard and called for Harmony to stand beside him instead. Beneath the shade of a cherry tree soon to shed for autumn, he watched a purple haze form and displace as a large blue bird emerged from the ground. A small part of that haze remained, a shapeless heap between the bird's wings. Iwamoto approached slowly, Harmony two steps before him.

The mass became less distorted, but its crystals were dark as pitch. A hat formed in the haze and flopped back to reveal weary looking eyes. “It's been a long time, Gramps.”

Iwamoto chuckled faintly as he recognized her. The misdreavus's form had changed, but her attitude was eternal. “It sure has, Granny.”

“You flatter yourself, and in poor taste. As you can see, I brought another old friend of yours to visit.”

“Not exactly, but we have met in the past, on both good and bad terms.”

Marianne recovered enough to drift away from Ivana. “She's been in a ‘bad terms’ sort of mood. I figure you're the only man in town who can convince her to choose good terms for a while.”

Iwamoto started walking toward his home. “We will talk about it, but that choice will be hers. It's not my duty or my place to train her; it's his. I have a bowl of berries on my kotatsu, you're free to take a himeri if you like.”

“I'm having two; dragging that squab through half of this town's sewer system took it out of me and then some.” She struggled to lasso a leppa berry with a tendril, and glanced at Crying-Tree. “Hell, I'm so beat I might lose to you if we fought.” Giving up, Marianne descended over the bowl.

“Please, none of that,” said Harmony, whose voice sounded like a growl even though she tried to sound as pleasant as possible at most times.

Marianne scowled at Harmony as she siphoned juices from her first berry.

“Please, none of that, either.” Harmony placed her paws on the edge of Iwamoto's kotatsu and leaned over, getting far closer to Marianne than the ghost liked. “I remember hearing about his accident. I'm sorry for your loss. I know he meant a lot to you.” Marianne reeled up another berry. “And, I wish you would stop holding your grudge against me. It has been a very long time.”

“You know, it's kinda embarrassing to be on a journey and not have a badge from your own home town, or whatever gym's nearest.”

“I fulfilled my duties as a gym leader's pokemon. Mister Tavers chose to use only one pokemon, and one that has a weakness that the gym leader's team can exploit. If he wanted easy badges, he should have tried another region where they sandbag with teams of low level pokemon flushed by type for the beginners.”

“Well, never fucking mind that he wasn't willing to sacrifice his education or travel abroad for the sake of League glory! He had time for one pokemon—”

“And he earned one badge. Barely.”

Iwamoto walked by, carrying a revival salt crystal. “Getting along well, ladies?” He ignored their lack of response.

Marianne took a third berry. “He gave up because of you. Sure, until they converted the basement, we were king and queen of the ring on Jolly Roger's fight nights more often than not, but it didn't matter that I kept rising in level, he was still afraid to put me in against you after what happened that last time. Later, after Masato retired to become a wanderer, Harvey just didn't care anymore. He didn't care enough, anyway.”

“You can't deny that you went too far, and I went only as far as I had to to stop you. If that incident is what put Harvey off of discovering how far he could go in Pokemon League, then the only person who is to blame is yourself. You are welcome to continue eating three times your fair share of our berries, but I will not stand here and listen to you wh—”

Crying-Tree covered Harmony's face with his wing, severing their conversation.

A moment later, Iwamoto entered with Ivana staggering inside behind him. He laid her down across a tatami mat and slipped a thin pillow beneath her head. “We will discuss matters when she recovers enough. Mister Tavers' Mismagius—”

“Marianne. He named me after we quit visiting your gym.”

“Marianne, it would be most appropriate if you went home now.”

Somewhat re-energized by the berries, Marianne lifted up and drifted back outside. “I'd like to be able to do that. I really would.”

* * *

  
At Rennin Pokecenter, Joe released Grace as soon as he got her ball back from the hopper. She motioned to finish the hug that he rebuffed when he arrived in favor of recalling her immediately for rejuvenation. This time he permitted it, but his attention was divided. “Oh, look, Grace! They said that Alice needs her ball right now. Do you know where it is?”

“No, she only ever said that she had to keep it hidden.”

A nurse interjected. “I know you came in with her; are either you two related to this lucario somehow?”

“Yes!” Joe barked as Grace released him. “Not legally, but we're the only family she has.”

Vanessa glanced around and spoke low. “She has a lateral skull fracture. Right now, they're working on preventing swelling and fluid accumulation. If you get her ball, the machine will take care of almost everything and she'll just have to stay out of fights until the bone knits. If you don't, there's a risk of brain damage if we can't keep the pressure down.”

Grace stepped forward. “Let me see her.”

After a brief discussion with the manager, Vanessa led Grace into the treatment rooms. Burner was resting in one of the beds, Alice was in the next, being examined. The manager explained what Grace intended to do.

Doctor Haskin spoke to them but did not look away from his patient. “I cannot recommend what you want to do, but given her current state, I will agree that it is probably worth the risk. Do not touch her head. You'll have to make-do with someplace else.”

Grace gently felt around Alice's body, looking for points of contact, settling with one hand beneath her neck, and the other on her chest. Establishing a connection was like sifting through mud for a lost contact lens, but after a couple of minutes, she found something.

The pain inside this body was unbearable and the darkness absolute. Alice's subconscious was in complete panic and wondered if she was feeling herself die. A faint glimmer of light streaked by and left a trail that slowly spread until it became a vague form. More followed, forming basic shapes, and Alice began to calm down as she established some bearings.

“Are you there?” a familiar voice called out.

“Grace? Is that you? I can't see you!”

“Yes, hold on, I have to talk to you!”

The geometric structures slowly became more definite, and more familiar to Alice. “Grace, do you know where we are?”

Grace spotted Alice and ran to her. She was curled up on the ground, as it were, but reached out to Grace when their eyes met. Grace helped her up, but she could barely stand.

“Alice, we're inside your mind, sort of. You're at Rennin Pokecenter, and you're hurt very badly. They need to put you in your ball to use the machine on you. If they don't, you might not be okay. Do you understand?”

Alice collapsed into Grace's arms, but the gardevoir's dream-form caught her before she fell through. “Can't tell where my ball is, someone will steal me.”

“Alice, you have to. No one is going to steal you. I won't let them; we won't let them. I promise you, Alice.”

“Can't tell, ball, can't let them know. They still want to take me, they still want to hurt him. Have to stay safe. Have to follow the rules.”

“Alice, please, listen to me,” Grace tried shaking Alice's subconscious mind, but the form was limp and responded only by mumbling its mantra. Unsure if the simile would work, Grace placed her palms on Alice's mind's head and tried to probe it to find out where her ball was. Delving back was like watching a recording play in reverse very quickly, with fragments of it projecting spontaneously in the space surrounding them for the briefest of moments. A few frames stuck in her mind even though she did not actually notice, interested only in finding the ball. A sound distracted her—like the clapping of a pair of hands—and she released Alice, who returned to her crumpled position. She turned and faced herself. Only green.

“It didn't work before, it won't work now.”

“What didn't?”

Her head tilted one way. “Have we forgotten?” Then, the other way. “Applying leverage.”

“I don't understand what you—look, whoever or whatever you are, help me with Alice or quit bothering me.” Grace attempted to get Alice back on her feet again.

“We have forgotten, but not completely.” The green gardevoir started walking away.

Grace palmed Alice's head again, but turned when she heard a crunching sound. The other gardevoir was kicking at an electronic panel. One of the devices on it ruptured, and filled the area with a bright red light.

* * *

  
Grace collapsed onto the cot, amid some loose wires connected to machines that hummed alert tones.

“Get on it, hot stuff.” Marianne tossed Alice's ball to Vanessa, who rushed it to a rejuvenation machine.

The gardevoir turned and faced the ghost hovering nearby while she got off of a now empty bed. “Marianne? You knew?”

“Of course.” Marianne leaned in close and loaded a question, “Knew what, pray tell?”

“That she needed her ball. And, where it was.”

“I'm familiar with bodily traumas, in case you forgot. Also, I know my own house, including the best hiding places, and also the cruddy ones that squatters would pick and think themselves cunning. Now, why don't you go tell Joe about how you saved the day and run along home.” Marianne added as they entered the lobby, “Choose your words carefully, I'm not going to be there to take the blame for you this time.”

* * *

  
“I do hope you won't hold this against her,” said Mr. Well as he entered James' home after knocking on the opened front door's frame. “Ivana gets this way every few years. I asked her not to go slumming, but her tastes care more about form and function than propriety and discretion, and of course fear is a powerful motivator.”

James was looking at scorch marks on his ceiling. “You're responsible for this?”

“Of course; a downside of owning property with biological imperatives.” Simon looked around at the mess and lifted his left leg, comparing the outline of his foot to the largest patch of drying blood. “She's done worse. Shall I arrange to have some of my men perform the restoration, or would you rather I write you a cheque?”

“Blank?”

Simon scoffed. “I'll ball-park estimate the cost of replacing your carpet and repairing that cabinet, that doorway, and add a zero to the end as a courtesy.”

James pushed his love-seat back to its normal position—covering the largest stain—and took a seat, thanking his stars that his television survived.

Simon sat beside him. “Are you going to turn it on?”

“The remote went somewhere.”

“That's rough. You should ask your pokemon to find it and bring it to you.”

“Do all female pokemon do shit like this and just nobody talks about it, or are yours special?”

Simon felt his T.D. vibrating, removed it from his suit jacket, and began tapping at its screen. “Only when they become truly desperate. Ivana is deeply worried that she will never produce offspring. I'll admit, I've spoiled her, and that is something which I can't provide. It seems she thought that a pokemon living here could. Speaking of things I can and do provide, how is our experiment going?”

“I haven't been bleeding out after shaving, but I'm not feeling five years younger, either.”

Simon pocketed his trainer's device. “Let's keep the faith, shall we? I'm expecting replenishment before your supply runs out, and there is another option we can try if this can't keep you afloat.” Simon took his leave, and met with Joe and Grace on the sidewalk. He began to smile; but hid it behind a gesture meant to look like he was scratching his nose with a hand adorned by a ruby ring. Watching fury build in Grace's eyes, he reclaimed his composure. “You'd like to kill me, wouldn't you?”

Grace said nothing, but she did growl.

“Yes. But you won't, because you would lose everything. You would lose him.”

Her lip curled into a sneer.

“You would've made somebody very happy if your mother had not made such a terrible mistake. And, she would be alive today, along with Gates and his hounds. I'm truly, deeply saddened to see four fine pokemon go to waste. If you change your mind and want to make something of yourself, your boy has Max's number. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I have a long ride home ahead of me.”

She imagined how much energy it would take to teleport him and herself someplace secluded. Maybe the reserve. That would be a fitting place for a private conversation; a chance to show him how she really felt. And as long as there were no witnesses…

“Grace, let's go inside.” Joe took her hand.

She watched as Mr. Well reached out of his window to wave goodbye. The ruby ring on his finger no longer sparkled red in the setting sunlight, it faintly glowed white.

“Joe,” she drew him into a close hug, “about my mother and I; he's wrong. Neither of us were wasted.”

* * *

  
“Grace?” Alice cracked open one eye. The ceiling lights seemed a little too bright.

A creaking sound preceded scratchy footsteps and a warm presence taking up her right paw. “She was here, but she is home with Joe right now. I'm happy you're awake.”

“B? I don't remember what happened. Just, that monster was on you, you needed my help, and then we were together in the, I don't know, and… Grace wanted my ball.”

“You were really hurt. You needed to be in your ball to get healed. Grace was trying to ask you where it was, but Marianne brought it. You're going to be fine real soon, now.”

“My ball, where—?”

“Marianne took it after they had you in the machine. She said she was going to hide it again, and do a better job than you did.”

Alice cracked a weak grin. “I knew she was part of this family, all along.” Alice squeezed his hand and fell asleep.

Burner brought her paw to his cheek and cawed something gentle. He turned to lie on his own bed, and found Marianne hovering above it.

“In my opinion: that's gotta be the meds talking.”

“I'm not going to argue with her, or with you, Ghost.”

She drifted aside while he climbed into his cot. “Ooookaaay, I'll let you take a bye this time.” She faded away.

“Ghost?” She faded un-away. “Where did you hide her ball?”

“What's the point of hiding it and then saying where out loud? And don't try to claim you were testing me, because you're not that clever. Her ball is in good hands.”

“Are you sure? Her last hiding place wasn't very safe, even though that was a good thing this time.”

“I gave it to someone special. I trust him with my ball, and I have precious fewer rights in this world to lose than she does.” Marianne faded away again, slowly. “Whatever, it's the best I can do. Try doing a better job of keeping her from needing it again.”

* * *

  
With help from an old man tilting her cup, Ivana enjoyed a drink of the finest tea she ever tasted. To a human's ears, her response was a short, complicated chattering sound, but his decades of experience with pokemon was enough to know that the meat of her message was, “None better.” Her translating computer was fried and provided no assistance.

“Thank you for your compliment, Ivana,” said Mr. Iwamoto as he sat and slipped his feet beneath his kotatsu. It, and the tea, were the only warm things in the room, as he allowed his guest to reduce the ambient temperature to a level more fitting her comfort. Iwamoto wore a thick hat that did not seem to suit him at all to protect his mostly-bald head from her cold, and Harmony leaned against him to share warmth. Crying-Tree stood motionless in a corner, feathers ruffled to trap extra air. He picked the warmest corner but that was not helping much.

“It's not fair,” Ivana sang, and Crying-Tree telepathically translated for her, “I never wanted to be special.”

Iwamoto stroked Harmony gently. “Your life seems to be one where wants are not often heard.”

Ivana sifted between the berries and pecked a nut from a bowl on the table, cracking its shell effortlessly. “A sad thing to say about someone whose credit limit could buy a second private island.”

“I want you to consider your true motivation, because it is not what you have told me it is.” Ivana crunched another nut. “If you wanted to be a mother, to raise young, you would have done so. Your master owns countless pokemon, surely some are needy and newly-hatched, if not still in their eggs. That you have not simply adopted one or many and given to them a mother's love tells me that either he forbids it and your actions are rebellion, or what you desire isn't motherhood but the triumph that would be producing an egg of your own species.”

With a sighing trill, her head hung shamefully and the room's temperature dropped further. It became too cold for Iwamoto to bear, and he rose to leave.

“I will put the rest of your tea in a decanter you can operate. Please, enjoy it all and rest here tonight as our guest.”

Ivana nodded gently and thanked Iwamoto in her own tongue, again understood without aid of translation. Iwamoto exited with Harmony beside him. Crying-Tree stood motionless for a time longer, until after Iwamoto returned with a substitute vessel, leaving with him. She called to the xatu when he was about to slide shut the door, and looked at him with begging eyes.

Crying-Tree stared back for only a few seconds before closing the door behind himself, on account of the cold. Ivana again lowered her head, but soon heard him inside her mind: “I see paths whose endings you would like to visit, but their beginnings are beneath your contempt.”

* * *

  
Despite his best efforts not to wake her, Alice stirred as he placed her into her own bed.

“Unnn, B?”

“Don't move, I've got you, Alice. They said it will be okay for us to go home but you need to rest for a few days.” He did not mention the cost of extended care that would be assessed if they remained when no longer regarded as critically injured.

“ ‘Allie.’ I'd like for you to call me that sometimes; at least, when we're alone.”

“Anything you like,” Burner straightened her sheets, and slipped in beside her, “but sleep now. I need you to get better.”

“I'll try. But, you don't have to stay with me.”

“You need to sleep, and sleep well. I'll keep that nightmare away, so it won't make you hurt yourself. You protected me when I was vulnerable, I'm protecting you while you are.”

Alice did not agree with his describing her effort as though it were successful. “Burner, if we weren't there when we were, would you and her have… mated?”

“She did something to me. I couldn't really do anything to stop her, except resist and struggle. I think she would have won, but I was fighting her with all my heart.”

“Good. Because anything less, and I'd never forgive you.”

“Me neither.”

* * *

  
Grace entered Joe's bedroom carrying a cup of juiced berry while he re-packed his backpack. Noticing her, he asked, “Any idea?”

“Your father told me to stop trying to read him passively and that you'll discuss it after school tomorrow.”

Joe zipped up his bag. “We're all in deep dookie.”

She set her drink on his dresser and added one cubic centimeter of supplement, according to the instructions and a mark engraved on the bottle's dropper.

“What's that?” he asked.

“Some vitamin stuff.” She took a sip and made a face. Her berry juice had a strange flavor thanks to the additive. If she had ever tasted quality dandruff shampoo, she would've noticed a similarity. “The jerk doctor said I have to have it, and that it'll make my skin shed.”

“Is that good?”

“He thought so.”

They slipped into bed, and Grace captured Joe's thoughts and memories for the day. All night long, there was one thing on her own mind: “Who the hell does this Scarlet think she is?”

* * *

  



	14. Rotations

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 14: Rotations.

* * *

  
Burner and Grace worked in the living room, operating a rented carpet steam cleaner. Joe sat at the kitchen table. So did James. In silence they sat for quite some time, as James let Joe sweat it out. Eventually, James leaned to his side and peered toward his living room. Grace straightened up, blushed, nodded, and faced away.

“Your thoughts?” James spoke with an uncharacteristically low volume.

Joe became alert and looked up from the table's surface. “What?”

James faintly cleared his throat. “Young man, I asked you for your thoughts.”

“About what?”

“What do you think?” James flung his right arm toward the clean-up site. “This!”

Joe hoped to mitigate. “Oh, uh, I think it's good that after what happened, everyone is going to be okay.”

James' brow furrowed—Joe realized that his was not a correct answer. “You think it's okay. One year ago, you asked me if it would be okay if you got one pokemon. Put yourself in my shoes: today, right now, your house has up to four pokemon in it at any point in time. Yesterday it was five and they brawled in your living room. There's broken glass over here, little pools of blood over there, and twice a door's been broken. Is this something you would say ‘yes’ to?” Grace cringed with anticipation as James shouted, “I asked you a question, young man; answer me!”

“No,” Joe meekly admitted.

James' line-of-sight turned a little upward and to the left, directing it a bit above the refrigerator. “I shouldn't have caved. I knew this was going to be a disaster. I should have kept my foot down.”

“I'm sorry, Dad. I really thought I could handle it. I mean, I've never heard of pokemon breaking into houses and attacking—”

James interjected with a stern correction. “She didn't break in, Joe. Burner let her in. And she didn't come to fight him, she came to fuck him.” Joe's eyes went wide at both the revelation and the language. “That's right. Remember when I said that pokemon can get you involved with the wrong sort of people? Well, here's an example of one: an articuno with unlimited financial resources and unrestricted access to supposedly-confidential records wants your blaziken for stud service. It took your whole ‘team’ to stop her, and as Grace explained it, the ghost was the only one who actually showed any aptitude. What happens if Ivana comes back someday and Marianne decides to sit it out the second time?”

Joe could not think of a good defense strategy, and hoped a legal position might provide an out. “Can't we do anything about what she did? Isn't it against the law or something?”

“Burner let her in so it wasn't breaking-and-entering, and beyond that, the law doesn't like to get involved in matters between pokemon. Mister Well compensated us handsomely for the damage, which is more than we could've hoped for if we tried to file a suit with no witnesses and no hard evidence except for a sample of articuno blood.”

“No witnesses? But, Dad, they all were there! They—”

James slapped the table with one palm and leaned inward for a moment. “They are not people, Joe. They are pokemon. I know the distinction has thinned during my lifetime, but legally they are still animals. Highly intelligent, yes. Possessing emotions, yes. Able to do many things we can do that no other animals can, and even do some things that we can't do, yes. But only because we take them into our lives and train them to be like us; program them to be like us. Born in the wild, they live and behave like what they are: animals. In a court of law, their testimony is heard only at the magistrate's pleasure.”

Joe hung his head. “That doesn't seem fair.”

“Life isn't fair, Joe. Life is a cut-throat. Life will find the things you think are the most secure and take them away from you. You have to be ready for that. As a trainer, your pokemon are your responsibility. You let them live outside of their balls when you are away. It's on your shoulders to make sure they're trained to fight well enough to defend themselves if needed, and not to make stupid mistakes that can put them, us, and this home into jeopardy. If they can't, you need to put them in their balls when you aren't using them.”

“Using them? Dad, that sounds cruel.”

“Who is being cruel here? You left your blaziken in a situation that, if it wasn't for a stroke of lucky timing and a lot of help, would have led to his being raped. Why did you do that to your pokemon, Joe?”

“I never would've thought something like that could happen.”

“And what do you think now; now that you know that it can and has happened?”

Joe thought about the question for a moment. “Can I go talk to him in private?”

James approved with a sharp upward nod. Joe took Burner into his bedroom and shut his door behind them. Grace excused herself as she passed by the table at which James sat, apparently seeking different cleaning chemicals from a cabinet. She was unsure if making a comment would break the tension or heighten it.

“Any luck?” James asked as she drifted by a second time.

She turned about to face him, but could not make eye contact. “Uh, some, but I'm having trouble getting all of it to come out.”

“Keep working on it. If I don't have to spend Simon's money on new carpet, I'd rather sock it away.”

Grace nodded and returned to her work. Burner soon re-joined her while Joe took his seat again.

“Dad, Burner agreed to stay in his ball when I'm away.”

James adjusted his posture and opened his mouth to speak, but did not as his son continued.

“But, I don't want to do that to him so I'm not going to, because he also said he learned from his mistakes, and won't let her or any other pokemon trick him that way again. You said it's my responsibility to make sure he can defend himself. He won't get stronger and smarter in his ball, so that would be giving up what he really needs so we can have some pretend safety that only works if someone like Ivana can't figure out another way to get ahold of him.”

James leaned back and let his son endure a little more silence—at least, as much as the sound of spraying and scrubbing in the neighboring room would allow—before resuming the trial. “Okay, he thinks he has a plan to defend himself against the feminine wiles of an articuno with an infatuation spell. Is that plan going to work?”

Joe thought about it for a little bit, and glanced into the living room. Burner was about to move the steam cleaner into his room, but Grace got his attention when she sensed that Joe was looking for it. Despite his stature, Joe's blaziken looked weak, weary, wary, worried. It stared back at him, waiting intently for a sign of some sort. It stared with eyes that had stared into Joe's a few times before. Those times, Joe was often unsure exactly how to respond, but followed his gut and formed the word “impressive.” That word did not apply right now. Burner broke their connection, turning away and losing a few centimeters of posture. Joe turned back to face his father, whose blank expression offered no mooring. He felt a brief and gentle pulse, surely Grace hoping to get a better idea of what was happening before the steam cleaner turned on again.

At least Joe could still follow his gut.

“I guess the only way to find out is to find out, right?” Joe left his seat without obtaining permission this time. He returned with his trainer's device and a business card. He slid the card through a slot in the device, adding its contact information to Joe's account information, and placed a call.

When it connected, “Mister Rainier,” uttered a flat, youthful voice through the device's speaker, “are you ready to arrange an exchange?”

“No, Max—”

“Whatever permissions my employer may have implied notwithstanding, you will refer to me by my title and surname.”

Joe glanced at his card to verify the expected appellation. “Okay, Mr. Syfax. I don't want to trade anybody. I want to challenge Mr. Well to a pokemon battle.”

James could not help but plant his jaw in his left palm and brace his elbow against the table.

Maximilian's laughter made Joe's T.D.'s speaker crackle until it subsided for a breath. “Oh, wow, kid… you're serious, aren't you?”

“Uh, I'm pretty sure any trainer can challenge any other trainer he meets at least once, and the other trainer has to accept, schedule a match, or forfeit. Right?”

Maximilian was still laughing, but not so much that he could not speak. “That rule is for youngsters to keep them from chickening out all summer long. Hold on. I'll see if he's willing to entertain your demand to request his attention.” A faint click preceded a stream of dull elevator music.

Joe looked at his father and at his T.D., and repeated that action. “You don't think this was a good idea, do you?”

“To be honest I'm not sure it isn't the dumbest thing I've seen you do.” Joe's finger considered hanging up the call. “But, I didn't take my own advice about staying away from that man, either, so obviously my advice doesn't stick very well. You're in this now, you're going to see it through.”

The music ended as a different voice interrupted. “Young master Rainier?”

“Yes, Mr. Well? I—I uh,” Joe's bravado was too interrupted.

“I'm a very busy man; I don't have time to listen to you stammer a repeat of what you already told Maxie. I accept your challenge. This being Friday afternoon, have you shown adult responsibility by being sure you have time this weekend that is clear for our match and the travel associated with it?”

James' and Joe's eyebrows raised when Simon said “travel.”

“This weekend?” Joe hesitated, “Well, I have a reading assignment and some math homework; that won't take more than a few hours each, though.”

“Very well. You can complete your assignments during the ride.”

“Ride?” James barked.

“Turn me about so I can see him,” Simon said, prompting Joe to rotate his trainer's device. “I have already been to Rennin once this week, which is more times than I planned for. Since your son has no pressing obligations, it makes sense that he come to a venue of my convenience. He is challenging me, after all.” James turned red in the face. “I assure you, you have nothing to fear for his comfort or safety. I have a controlling interest in the finest hotel in Sulmepride, and to speak plainly, nobody messes with Mr. Well or his guests anywhere in Ocimene.”

James was still red. “I have no doubt you are in control of this situation.”

Simon smiled. “I've made a career of that. Joe!” Joe rotated his T.D. again. “Given the inequity of our resources, I suppose it is only right to let you pick the format of our match, if you like.”

“Yes, one-on-one, Burner against Ivana.”

A distant squawk heralded the appearance of a blue feathered face and wide eyes above Mr. Well's shoulders, forcing his head aside slightly as it struggled to get a view of the screen.

“Really, now, is this a matter of revenge, Boy, or is this a strange way of reconsidering her proposition?”

“No! It's… it's a way that we can prove we won't be afraid of getting hurt when we aren't together to protect each other.”

Ivana made a low sound. Simon asked Joe to hold for a moment. When he returned, Ivana was no longer in view. Simon began by clearing his throat. “I can assure you, Ivana's actions were very short-sighted and selfish, but not malicious. She did not come intending to hurt anyone, and was certainly not trying to make you fear for your safety. She is, however, somewhat frustrated and very emotional, and sometimes that gets the better of her. She is also a very powerful pokemon and often forgets her discretion when she fights. Knowing that, do you still want to challenge us?”

Joe pursed his lips a little. “Yes, sir.”

Noises from the other room ended, and both Grace and Burner appeared on the border between kitchen and living space.

“Are you sure? She is willing—in fact, eager—to apologize to you personally for what she did. I can send her, or bring you all here if that—”

“Mister Well,” Joe looked into Burner's eyes once again, “we will accept her apology, but we want to fight. Even if we are going to lose, again, we're going to face this problem, and we're going to go home knowing we did our best, or how we can do better.”

“Hold.”

Grace looked between all three of the males surrounding her. Their emotional melange was distinctly mottled.

The hold music ended abruptly again. “Pack for two nights, a car will arrive at nineteen-hundred exactly. I will accommodate per diem for you and for Burner. Bring no other pokemon.”

Joe glanced up at Grace, whose gills flared at her exclusion. “Okay, Mister Well.”

“Please, call me Simon, and don't make my driver wait.” Joe's T.D. announced the call's conclusion. He set it down on the table and looked around. Burner stood tall again, but was clearly surprised. Grace's mind was half spinning through predictions of how a head-to-head arena match between Burner and Ivana could go, and the other half considering that she was going to be out of contact with Joe for a few days, which was truly something strange and unfamiliar to her lifestyle.

James slid his chair away from his breakfast table and stood slowly with a mock deliberate motion. “Congratulations, Trainer. Your journey begins.”

* * *

  
Grace helped Joe to pack and once that was done they lay together and read through over half of his reading assignment, until James summoned them to help prepare dinner and dine upon it. Joe read a little faster, and remembered more, when she aided him by generating a sensory experience from the fragments that an imagination bored with its task was willing to provide. At eighteen-fifty-nine, a limousine stopped on the far side of the street. Grace reluctantly said her goodbye, while James saw Joe off with a handshake that turned into something like a hug.

The car's driver opened a door for Joe as he and Burner approached. “Please recall your pokemon, Sir. Regulations.”

Joe nodded and Burner assented. Inside, Joe found the car to be as conservative in styling as it was luxurious. The driver's voice announced, “Forgive my vulgarity, but did you remember to go before you leave?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Yeees.”

“Then our journey to Manse DeWell will be non-stop. Help yourself to the snacks and refreshments provided at your leisure. I was instructed to remind you to use this time to complete your school assignments, but if you wish to rest, feel free to do so. Please remove your shoes should you choose to become recumbent upon our leather.”

“Got it.” Joe sifted through his bag, removed his trainer's device, and loaded a video game's save file.

* * *

  
Grace drifted inside when Joe's limousine disappeared from view. James was inspecting her efforts, scrubbing at a stain's ghostly rim with the toe of his shoe.

“I'm sorry, Master James. We tried our best, but it wasn't enough. Maybe, if I get some stronger cleansers…”

James continued looking at the stain. “Grace, why did you do that?”

“Because you are unsatisfied with our performance.”

“Not why you suggested buying a better spray. Why did you call me ‘Master James?' ”

“Is that unacceptable?”

James looked aside to Grace, who was still looking at the stain. “I said you could call me ‘Dad.’ ” He turned his body toward her, hers turned away at the exact same time. She now faced a distant corner.

“ ‘Could,’ so it is my choice. Using that word would be inappropriate, Master James. You are not my father, and I am just a thing…”

His eyes squinted slightly, “Grace.”

“—that is programmed to do as it is told,” she continued to completion.

James pushed his love-seat back into its regular position, covering the stain once more. “Sit down, right here.”

Grace obliged without looking toward him or anything else in particular.

“I never said you were a ‘thing.’ I said that you are a pokemon, and in the eyes of humanity, pokemon don't count as people.”

“That's not what you said, Master James. The facts are the same, but when you turn that sentence around it means something else.”

“Are you lecturing me about grammar?”

“No, Master. But when I hear you speak, I feel it two ways. I feel it the way all pokemon feel when we hear humans speak, and I also feel what my speech T.M. tells me. When you turn that sentence around it means something else. It means you're trying to say something different to me than what you said to him.”

James shifted uncomfortably, started to speak, hesitated, and took a few breaths while he chose a path forward. “You're right. I am. But it's not because I'm trying to trick you. It's because he has to come to realize that you aren't human. God damn it, I wish you were.” Grace faced James with focused attention. “That'd make everything a whole lot easier right now if I could snap my fingers and make it so. However, the fact of the matter is, you are a gardevoir; a pokemon. So is Burner. It's not that I want him to treat you any different. I'm proud that he respects you and him, and the others too like he would a human, a friend, a sibling, a l—” James bit his tongue. “But if he doesn't take to heart that outside of his reach you are pokemon, he's going to make bad calls based on misplaced judgment; things that would be fine if you were people, but aren't because you're not.” James sat beside her and slowly placed his arm across her shoulders. It did not require much strength to bid her to lean against him although she was clearly surprised by the gesture. Their proximity revealed his mindset to her particular senses. “You haven't told us much about your past, but I understand that you never knew your father. It's our job to choose which hits our kids need to take and learn from, and which we have to protect them from. It's not an easy job, either. Right now, he has to learn that his family is mostly made of pokemon, not people, and that no matter how much human respect he gives you all, when it comes to dealing with the world around him, he is the one and only human that you and Burner have that you can rely on to secure your rights, safety, and future.”

Grace sobbed gently, her mind racing with both his and her own emotions, and a complicated tangle of everything he had said and she had thought that afternoon. Once she straightened it out somewhat, she gently stated. “I was born in the wild.”

“I know you were, Grace. And, even though the blood stains on your skirt didn't come out completely with the first scrub, you cleaned up pretty well. That's because unlike animals, when you give a pokemon a home and treat it like a person, it slowly becomes one.” Grace started to pull away, but James held her fast. “I know what I said sounded hurtful, but you have to trust my intentions.” James took a deep breath. “Just as I have come to trust yours, Grace.” He felt her slowly become slightly warmer, then, suddenly cooler.

“Dad…”

“Shh, they'll be okay, Grace. It's just a weekend trip and a pokemon battle.”

A moment passed before she spoke again. “Dad?” James loosened his grip and let her sit upright, although she chose to stay leaned against his shoulder somewhat. “Will you do something for me?”

“That depends.”

Grace nodded. “Will you tell me what it's like… to have… I mean, if I were,” Grace blushed with embarrassment. “It's, I can't put it all into your words. Like, if you were—”

James gently tightened his grip on her shoulder and kissed her on the side of her forehead.

* * *

  
“How was your second day at your new school?” asked Martin of his daughter as he passed the spuds around.

“About the same as the first,” replied Scarlet, taking a small helping.

Her mother took the bowl next. “Did you make any new friends?”

“About as many as yesterday.”

Kari passed the bowl along to Leslie, who resisted but took a little anyway to avoid an impending The Look.

Martin beckoned for salt and pepper. “One more, then, if we count ‘some kid’ from yesterday. Keep it up and at this rate, by the time you graduate, maybe you'll have enough that we'll know a couple by name.”

“Mart! Don't make fun of your daughter.” Kari passed the shakers along via Leslie. “You know she's shy.”

“Uh-huh. Like how she's gotten thrown out of two school plays for grandstanding.”

“That's how she handles nervousness, Mart.”

Leslie took a drink. “It's not just some kid. It's a boy.” Leslie got The Look from two family members at once for that.

“You see, Kari? I told you we needed to find an all-girls school. I guess we better hold hands and pray.” Slowly, hands extended and completed the patriarch's circle. “God, grant that poor boy the serenity to accept being seated next to my daughter, the resilience to withstand her bullying, And the wisdom to know when to run for the hills.”

“Mart,” Kari said as she broke the circle, “we need to have a talk about your sense of humor.”

“Why? It hasn't changed in twenty years.”

“Twenty-one years, Martin.”

“Who's counting?”

“I am. That's something else we need to talk about.”

Scarlet piped up. “Mom, it's no big deal.”

“Yes, it is. Saying hurtful things like that can scar a child.”

Martin refuted with his mouth slightly occupied. “Child? She's fourteen now, the horses have left the barn on that one, and now you want to take from me the only thing in life that still gives me joy?”

“Are you saying I don't give you joy?”

“Not right now.”

The Look.

Scarlet dove in. “He's a trainer.”

Martin asked for the gravy. “See, nothing to worry about, Kari. The problem solved itself before we got a chance to make fun of it and then argue about it.”

Kari passed the gravy. “We need to talk about that, too.”

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Joe stood overwhelmed by the grandeur of Manse DeWell, not that Sulmepride was anything shabby. The capital city of Ocimene, it was not as large as Hexyloxy or Tartaroyal, but it was clearly a city designed to impress visiting dignitaries with a taste for opulence and to serve those who move and shake. He experienced for the first time what it is like to use a revolving door and slowly stepped into an expansive lobby, looking up and around at its vaulted ceilings, painted with scenes between each crossing of supports. “If I may,” Joe heard spoken after he stopped walking forward. Maximilian took his bag. “If you will follow me,” he grumbled as he led Joe toward the elevators. Inside, Maximilian pressed three different buttons and turned a unique-looking key.

“The floor on which you will stay is restricted from public access. Furthermore, this elevator will not allow you to leave the secured floors. This is for your own safety, of course; Mr. Well would not permit a pro tempore ward to wander a city alone. Should you need to leave for a reason I cannot possibly imagine, you will be escorted by a valet.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Joe's hand moved toward the pokeball clip on his belt and the one ball it contained, “but, I'm pretty sure I'm safe with Burner with me.”

“If you felt that way, you wouldn't be here testing that theory, would you?”

Point taken. “He must be a pretty tough valet, then.”

Maximilian Syfax adjusted his tie with emphasis. “Don't let my appearance mislead you.”

The lift car slowed and stopped. Maximilian led the way. “There are four suites on this floor, yours is Room 904, at your right. For the time being I am in 901, and am available to you at your whimsy. The floor above us is currently vacant and inaccessible. Above that is Mr. Well's suite and auxiliary office. Ivana is staying on that floor as well, suite 909. You are free to visit them, although unless you decide to call off this challenge, I advise against bothering them. If you no longer need my services, I will take my leave of you.”

Joe shook his head, and both began separate ways. Joe stopped and called out, “Wait, one question. Why did he make you my valet? I thought you were his personal assistant. Doesn't he have other employees?”

“Being put at your beck is my punishment. I was responsible for Ivana's care in a time of personal distress, and as you know, I failed to keep her on her best behavior.”

Inside his suite, Joe met with a continuation of the grandeur he was introduced to in the lobby. In fact, his suite offered more floor space than his own home. It was decorated with live plants, fantastic paintings, and even eclectic amenities such as a grand piano and a fine telescope beside a window. A wrapped basket filled with glass-bottled drinks and fresh fruit included a note of welcome. Joe tossed his bag beside the bed and released Burner. He too was struck dumb by what he saw; the living space's spacious flow made him feel an evolution smaller again. Joe carried his school work to a mahogany desk and started on mathematics while Burner explored an entertainment center, flipping through a catalog of television programs, audio selections, and video games. The latter-most category caught his eye.

After a few hours, Joe completed most of the non-word-problems and decided to wash up for bed. The bath had a dedicated entertainment system of its own, and Joe selected classical music to make his experience complete the cliche. Burner quit his game, having been defeated by the one he tried, and started flipping through channels. Although anything untoward was restricted, a naturalists' channel featured a rather candid documentary about wild pokemon.

When Joe exited the bath wearing a graciously provided and properly-sized robe, he did not see Burner, and called out to him twice to no response. However, the clicking of Burner's talons against tile flooring located him for Joe, who turned and saw only a brief flash of mostly red feathers slip through the bath's doorway. Its door closed immediately behind him. Joe rapped upon it and advised Burner that if he had needed to use the toilet, he could have come in rather than suffer in wait.

The blaziken's first word was distorted by his bird-like nature. “Kraaat's not, there isn't, wasn't any… hurry, just… don't worry, I'm fine.”

Joe did not quite buy that, but left Burner in peace to dress himself in nightclothes and turn on the entertainment system. Being the top of the hour, a new program was beginning, showing one part of a long-running documentary series, “The Poke-man,” chronicling an adventurer who lives in the wild among untrained pokemon. Although edited and narrated after the fact, much of its footage was captured by the man himself using small video cameras, often hidden, since a film crew would disrupt his studies.

An awkward angle showed the star apparently being stalked by something yellow and black, but soon their interaction proved to be tentatively peaceful. A voice-over began, “The female mawile that I recorded investigating my campsite two days ago ultimately chose to reveal herself. Although she is letting an inquisitive nature guide her, she is still a wild pokemon, of course, and I have to be very careful. The biggest mistake would be to lose respect for those horns. Their primary roles are to digest large meals and to protect the rest of the body, and they truly do have a mind of their own. I've seen well-trained and experienced rangers get seriously injured because they misread a mawile's body language. Here, she is approaching me slowly, with her body in front but twisted at an angle so her horns can lunge forward instantly. The mistake people will make here is to ignore the horns and try to talk to the rest, and the worst thing to do is to try to touch the body. That will either make it run away or attack defensively.” The video paused. “There, I almost made a mistake, reaching out with my left hand first, closer to her body than her horns; if I hadn't caught myself I might have wound up with a stump.” The video resumed. “Now, I slowly reach out to her horns with my right arm, opposite from her body. This shows her that I'm willing to trust her horns, which she knows are her most dangerous part, and I'm not taking this opportunity to threaten her body. Incidentally, wobbuffet expresses a similar psychology. Now, she has come a little closer, and her horns are opening: she's seeing if I trust her greater teeth and jaws. Still moving slowly, I prove that I do by very gently stroking their lips and once she opens them wider, their tongue. People see this and think I'm crazy, and I warn them to never try this. Not because it's dangerous, but because those people are the kind who would become nervous, hesitate, and make the mawile second-guess their encounter, and that's when things get bitten off.”

A deep, loud call pierced the bathroom door.

“Burner!” Joe shouted, “are you okay in there?”

Some time passed before he heard a response. “Yes! Okay. I'm fine,” he made another strange noise. “I was, uh, surprised; I turned on the water guns in the tub by mistake.”

“The jets feel good, though, don't they?”

“Yes. I'll try them out for a little while, okay?”

“Have fun!” Joe turned back to the television.

The program now showed the man with his mawile climbed up in his lap as he sat cross-legged on the forest floor. His left hand was across her back and resting on her shoulder. His other was fully inside her horns' moist grip. “Of course, you can't see this, but her horns' tongue is gently feeling around my fingers here. It's a very tactile organ, as the horns' only way to feel things, and it never forgets a flavor. This moment is the goal of our interaction. She invited me to trust her horns with myself and now she is trusting me with herself, since by having my hand in her horns' jaws they cannot easily defend her body which I now hold. Mawile do not readily take to companionship, and often the first time this trust ritual stops at simply allowing physical contact. That she let herself relax in my arms is a rare and special thing, and I felt honored that this creature would extend her friendship to me, but there is another side to it. Mawile is the deceiver pokemon. It means that she is struggling to survive on her own. Perhaps she is a poor fighter; perhaps she is challenged by other, territorial pokemon; or maybe there is a scarcity of food in this area. While I've been doing well for myself, a Steel-type has specialized dietary needs that must not go unfulfilled…”

Burner turned on a ventilation fan to extract the plume of steam he was about to produce, as his feathers stood on end and his body temperature increased greatly. When he emerged from the bath, he took a remote control from Joe's loose grip and turned off the television. He glanced back as Joe re-positioned himself.

“I didn't mean to wake you,” Burner muttered.

“Nah, I just rested my eyes a little. But, bed sounds like a good idea. The last of those questions can wait.”

Burner looked around the room. “Shall I put myself in my ball, Joe?”

“Do you want to?”

Burner did not respond.

“Well, that couch over there might be long enough for you. Or, you could sleep on the bed, too. I remember you wanted to do that, but Dad was worried about your claws.”

The blaziken's taut cheek shifted into something of a proud smirk as he glanced at his right arm's talons. “These have become a little more… sophisticated with my last evolution. I haven't damaged any of Alice's fabrics, yet.”

“Alright, get in here. I guess you'll have to go kinda diagonally to fit, though.” They settled in and noticed that the suite lighting dimmed itself automatically. “I guess Dad was right. Far from home, sleeping beside my pokemon, getting psyched for a battle tomorrow, bathing with scented oils in a fancy tub; I am on my pokemon journey.”

“The fancy tub isn't part of a journey.”

Joe turned to face Burner beside him. “You never said much about what your day-to-day activities were like when you traveled with Percy.”

“There were no hot tubs, or psyching, or sleeping beside. We all were in-ball except when we were camped outside. Then he'd pick whichever one of us had a type or move strong against local wild nocturnal pokemon to play night watchman. Usually Frankie.”

“Well, if we go out for a summer, we'll try to do better than that.”

Burner turned to face Joe. “Do you want to go on a journey now?”

“I don't want to go on a journey. But, Dad was right, you are pokemon, and Grace was right, you need to fight to become strong, and Dad was right, I'm responsible for your well-being. So, if that means we hit the road, we'll hit the road. It can't hurt, can it?”

“I guess not. But we don't have to travel to fight. The gym is always there, and it has been good enough, I guess.”

“That's true. I don't know. Traveling might be fun; all the other kids are doing it.”

Burner gripped Joe's hand. “I'm having fun traveling with you already, Joe.”

“Alright, then. We'll see what happens.”

Burner made a happy bird noise and leaned over to lick Joe's cheek before reaching behind his pillows with his left arm to raise it up a little more. That helped keep his horns from poking into anything. Joe closed his eyes and relaxed. It was strange not feeling Grace worm her way into his mind, but Burner's body was no less warm.

* * *

  
“Damn it!” Grace cursed as she awoke alone in Joe's bed. Five, four, three, two, one, and the bedroom door flew open.

“Grace!” James shouted in as he stood in the doorway.

“I didn't mean to!” She lowered her volume significantly. “I always connect with him at least a little when we sleep. He's not here, so all I've got is a faint, messy, lingering trace.” She clutched their covers and drew them into a small wad against her front antenna. “I just didn't like the feeling of being alone. I was asleep, I didn't realize it until… then.”

James turned sideways and spoke to the door. “The first night in I-don't-know-how-long that the ghost hasn't bothered me, and my sleep is ruined because I have a gardevoir trying to pull me into her nightmares.”

Grace shifted her legs beneath Joe's covers. “I'll sleep in my ball if you want me to.”

“No, just try to leave me alone, okay?”

Grace nodded with a faint hum of acknowledgment and whispered a more-humble apology. James pulled the door shut as he left.

“Maybe if I wallpapered the rooms with aluminum foil,” he pondered, “and where is that ghost, anyway?” James experimentally waved his hand through the air a few times, feeling around for any cold regions. He asked the nothingness if she was there a few times before giving up and visiting his kitchen. He opened his refrigerator to retrieve some milk and heard a dull noise when he shut its door. Setting the milk aside momentarily, he stood on his toes and glanced across clutter scattered about the machine's top. A small box was resting at an angle between its chassis and the wall over their narrow offset. He strained to reach for it and carried it to his table. Sitting there with a half-glass of milk to his left and a small box to his right, he stared that the latter until he sipped his glass down to a quarter full. He brushed away a layer of dust, and regretted doing so as its collection of atomized kitchen grease allowed it to become a nasty tendril of fuzz that stuck to his fingers, and then to the table, and finally to a napkin. He used his fingernails to work up a tab of sealing tape and to gently peel it away. Lifting the lid released ancient air, a scent so very faint yet instantly remembered—sauvignon blanc—both for what it was and why it was there. He withdrew his old collar sash from the box, letting gravity unfold it from its tightly-packed state. Three badges affixed thereupon took turns reflecting moonlight from the kitchen window as though they were eagerly awaiting their moment to shine. He let it lie limp in his right hand while he took another sip from his glass. “Maybe next summer?” Next summer; nexts were in limited supply now. He remembered his medication, and that only the ghost knew where she hid it between doses. Missing one could not hurt, since he would miss them all if he had none, if Mr. Well did not choose to graciously supply them. “Keep you afloat,” James quoted from his previous face-to-face with Simon. Treading water, indeed. If that medication kept him stable, perhaps his days were numbered in terms of how many doses he missed. He glanced at his stove's clock; it read nearly two in the morning. “Another one bites the dust,” he muttered as he stood, finished his milk, and rinsed out its glass. A motion in the moonlight caught his eye. Carefully opening the backyard door to investigate, James sneaked out and sat gently in a patio chair. He kept his secrecy until an insect flew into his left nostril and he could not help but snort to eject it.

A serpentine monster's head popped out of the pool water. Its fins coiled up and shook nervously.

James spoke gently. “This isn't a place for your kind.” Fiona started to swim toward the opposite end. “Wait, I meant that milotic don't belong in a residential district. Were you released, or did you wander away from your master?”

She glanced toward her master's home, and twitched an antenna in its direction.

“You can't talk to me, can you?”

She shook her head.

“That's okay. Go ahead and swim around.”

James sat in silence for a few minutes as she accepted his invitation. Although its chlorine content was a mild irritant and the pool quite confining compared to the body of water her body of scales longed to explore, being able to flex her spine in every direction worked loose many cramps she suffered by spending time wallowing about on land. Finally becoming comfortable, she let herself sink and lie flat along the pool's inclined bottom. A sudden splash caused her to coil up on reflex. An indistinct form came down near her and tickled her neck. She rose to the surface, and the form gripped her to be towed up forthwith. James released her and drifted back a little.

“This pool was meant to be used by at least two. Have you ever played in the water with a human?”

Fiona grunted.

“Well, I'm going to swim in my pool. You do whatever you like.”

She settled at the bottom again while James did a few laps. He started teasing her by reaching down and tickling the tip of her tail. She responded at first by jerking it away before he could, and later by swatting his arm away. Within minutes, Grace was half-awakened from a half-sleep by the sound of breaching.

Grace approached her rear window and saw nothing noteworthy beyond its glass; just a waning gibbous moon hanging above a placid pool water's surface, and almost turned away dismissing what she thought she heard as part of a dream until a faint sensation of panic drew her attention back to the pool. James emerged near the middle of the deep end, and a familiar fish appeared beside him. Grace kept herself mostly hidden but continued to spy.

“Not even two-thirds of my record. Those cigarettes add up.”

Fiona did not understand what that meant, but she could tell he was exhausted from his swim. She was tired, too.

“It's gotta be at least three by now. I'm going to sleep.” James started to swim away but was pulled under as a prehensile tail gripped his leg and drew him back. With a few quick twists, Fiona looped her body into something of a raft and returned him to the surface. Spitting and snorting pool water from his mouth and nasal cavity, James intended to protest, but felt soothed as she aligned her neck along his spine and draped her fins across his chest. She grunted again, but with a more positive timbre.

The sensation he felt from her was cool, like water. Compared to the sensation he knew from the ghost—cold, like a corpse—it was a step up, and after looking up at a canopy of stars above, he did not care to return to his bed that night.

Grace laid herself down.

* * *

  
Joe responded to his wake-up call, which promised that breakfast would be served in exactly thirty minutes. Burner awoke too, stood, did some stretches, and re-awakened Joe, who had promptly fallen back asleep. When the exact thirty minutes elapsed exactly, a doorbell chime echoed through their suite. Burner opened the door and felt immediately like a fool for not checking the peep-hole first.

That was twice he let an articuno inside, and once after promising never to do that again. Maximilian said nothing as he pushed inside a service cart conveying a breakfast and left quickly. Joe straightened his shirt and emerged mostly dressed although his shoes were still untied. Ivana sang a strange tune. The entertainment system announced that a translation program was now active. She continued singing while pacing across the floor, seeking a position on their couch. It was not designed for her, but a reasonably comfortable stance was possible across its length with one leg folded beneath her on its cushions.

“I came to apologize,” her translator began, “but I cannot apologize enough to make my wrong right. I tried taking what I wanted. I thought I could change your mind. When you did not, I got mad; because you said ‘no,’ because of why you said ‘no.’ I got angry; angry at your mate. Jealous. I wish someone loved me enough to say ‘no’ to someone like me. If you forgive me, I want us to be friendly together. I don't want to fight with you today.”

Joe stood close beside Burner. “We are not going to back out.” Burner's posture gained a centimeter.

Ivana rose from the couch and came up against Burner's chest. He stood as motionless as a granite pillar. The translator failed to respond as she tweeted something soft. He nodded. She walked to the door and stopped, letting them realize that she could not operate its knob without undue effort. Joe opened it for her. Halfway through, she paused, squawked something complicated into the room, and continued out. Joe shut the door before the translation came.

“Before our fight, make the employee escort you to shop. Buy a gift for each of yourselves, and any family you like to treat, including your fortunate lucario. My money pays.”

* * *

  
James awoke to a bucket of cold water to the face. Actually, more than a bucket, him having rolled into the pool, and technically he was awake for a couple seconds before getting wet. The first rays of morning had pierced his eyelids, and when they opened to a brightening morning sky, he realized that he left a box on his breakfast table and that it was time to prepare breakfast. He scrambled out of the pool unmolested by Fiona's tail and re-entered his home, leaving a trail of wet footsteps behind himself. His box was where he left it. He shut it, pressed its tape back down, and replaced it atop the refrigerator. Turning around and leaning against a counter, he breathed a sigh of relief. Then he noticed that his trainer's sash was lying off to the side, rather than inside the box. He reached for it, but it leapt away as though someone had pulled on an attached string.

“Oh, let me see!” Grace spouted as she caught his accessory out of the air. “Three badges? Since you seem to hate pokemon fighting, these little guys must have some good stories behind them.”

James did not appreciate her snarky attitude. “Give me that.” James snatched it away and stomped toward his bedroom.

Grace sensed another presence and looked behind herself. Fiona was trying at spying, and ducked away when Grace turned. A quick teleport ensured that the fish could not escape. “Hey, there. I guess you got to know James.”

Fiona nodded while Grace gently established a link so she could respond. “I think he is a good human.”

“I do too, although he is a little rude when he's upset.”

“My human is always rude and always upset.” Fiona's fins dangled lifelessly.

“I'm sorry about that. But, if he lets you come over here, I guess it's okay. Obviously James doesn't mind you using the pool, and I don't either. We'll have to do something to make sure that ghost knows it's okay.”

“He doesn't let me come over here. Sam let me out of the ball. He said our human won't notice because he is busy with school and something else—I didn't understand.”

James called out from the back door. “Are you two having a conversation?”

Grace confirmed.

“Tell her she can stay for breakfast. I'm making pancakes.”

* * *

  
“That will not be any problem, Sir. We intend for our garments to fit forever. That includes tailoring, repairs, and alterations.” Maximilian asserted that their benefactor would not necessarily pay for maintenance costs. “An oversize cut may be appropriate, then,” advised the fashion consultant. “Our master tailor will have no difficulty predicting your future measurements.”

Joe nodded, but looked again to Burner, “Well, are you happy with the look?” Burner cawed, Maximilian rolled his eyes, and the fashion consultant directed Joe to follow him to be measured and estimated.

Maximilian signed off on Burner's purchase. “He selects for you a gold chain necklace, and the best you can come up with for him is a gaudy jacket. Quite fitting: his training is so poor that you repay him with something so trivial.” He became visibly nervous when Burner placed his right claw on his left shoulder.

“This chain is more expensive, but it is a novelty to us. That jacket proves something bigger.”

Maximilian gestured with a flick of his fingers that he wanted Burner to remove his talons. “Whatever. At least by making your selections this little escapade will soon end and I can return to the work expected of me.”

“Not yet. We still have James, Grace, and Alice to shop for. And, maybe Marianne,” he added, thinking and talking to himself more than to Maximilian.

* * *

  
Fiona watched with great interest as Grace responded to the strange noise of a ringing telephone, and began talking to it as though somebody were now with her. Percival sought to speak with Joe, who was not responding to his trainer's device.

“He's probably busy right now,” Grace said to excuse her master, “but when he does respond, let me know. I'm going to start worrying about him.” The caller was more concerned with a secondary matter. “Yes, she's here. We're almost finished with breakfast. I'll bring her over when we're done.” His impatience annoyed her, and gave her an idea. “It won't be more than three minutes, calm down.” He hung up on her. She stuck her tongue out.

Grace returned to the table, where Fiona demonstrated a very slow and awkward competence with use of her fins to manipulate silverware and a small pitcher of syrup. She filled Fiona in on her master's orders, and regretted having to do so as she saw and felt Fiona's emotional reaction. “Maybe it'll be okay if I come along to help you explain?”

The milotic did not seem to think that her presence would matter any as she said nothing throughout the remainder of breakfast and their trip up the block.

At the Finnegan's, Percival opened the door and recalled Fiona before it was fully opened. After a quarter-hearted “thank you,” Percival closed the door but Grace caught it with her mind before it was fully shut. “Hey, Poke-master P, mind if I come along? Joe and Burner went off to fight a one-v-one today, so I'm a little bored.”

Percival thought for a moment, and assented against his immediate inclination. “Fine, you can come. But I'm only putting you in if I have to. Towers changes her team every time she offers a challenger match, so I might need a Psychic. And, no showing off. The last thing I want today is to earn Joe's second badge. I'll grab my stuff and we'll go.”

Delilah emerged from her living room and received an after-action report on the articuno incident of two-days-prior. She did not find any chance to offer her thoughts on the matter, however, as Percival hastily headed for the door, calling out to Grace.

“Got your ball?”

“It's here,” Grace gestured with her purse that it lay within.

Percival extended his arm. “Alright.” He added when Grace missed a beat, “Give it to me so we can go. I've got to get there A.S.A.P. to make it in time for sign-ups.”

She felt a hint of reluctance as she handed over her ball. It felt like a regression. He clicked her ball's button, adjusted something inside it, and recalled her. “Later, Ma',” he shouted as the front door swung open and shut; Delilah's, “You be careful out there,” only making it halfway through.

* * *

  
Maximilian sat at a separate table from Joe and Burner while they did lunch at a fancy cafe. Joe was the only one intently eating, since Burner was on Joe's trainer's device checking-in on Alice, failingly hoping to find out what she would like as a gift without asking directly.

Mister Syfax was telephoning someone, also. “It's not going to happen. Because I said so, for one. Yes, I could ride Hemmy there, but he wouldn't get me back in time for work tomorrow, and technically I'm on duty twenty-four this weekend so one call from Simian or my current load while I'm away and I'm in a world of fertilizer. I don't care, tell them to catch a late show on me, or to go up-stream and rent something warm and slippery. Yes, I realize that, Wick. Try closing your eyes and letting the spirit move you. Because it's less painful that way.”

Burner passed Joe's T.D. along to him, and he started recording the call so Alice would not have to repeat her request a third time. After taking her order, Joe saved it to a file and exchanged a few pleasantries, verifying that her medical condition was well in hand. Indeed, she had already been to Rennin Pokecenter that morning where Dr. Haskin reported her recovery to be progressing without complication, and expected her to be cleared for competition by week's end. As she had to Burner, she expressed to Joe her annoyance that they left town without letting her know, and warned them that upon their return, she would be coming over to reprimand them in person.

Joe put his T.D. into his pocket. “Okay, Dad absolutely refused to let Ivana's money buy him anything, and at least for Grace, I know what it is I think she'll like—I just hope they have a fit for her size and shape. I don't know what Alice was talking about. All I caught was that it had to do with her roof.”

Burner pecked at his gourmet fried potato slices. “Should we find a gift for the ghost?”

Joe slumped in his chair. “I guess, if we can. I don't want to think about how she would react if she felt left out, and Grace said that she did save everybody's butts.”

Burner stood up and stretched his arms straight upward, groaning softly. He caught more than a few eyes in doing so. “But, what would a ghost want?”

Joe stood too while a waiter cleared their table. “I don't know, but it might be nice if she slept at night like we would like to.”

Across the street, a small dark figure sat at a bar, partaking of an overpriced drink. “Well, well, well—that must be the trainer.”

* * *

  



	15. Alignments

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 15: Alignments.

* * *

  
Percival badgered her before the glow faded. “Hey, you haven't learned to use psychic in combat yet, have you?”

Grace regained her senses and recognized her surroundings as a gym lobby, but not one she had visited before.

Percival stood nearby at a table, filling out cards to register his pokemon and the techniques they would be using in an upcoming contest. “Yo, ground control to Grace; have you figured out how to hurt someone with your powers, or only make them disoriented?”

Disoriented was an appropriate word at that moment. “Yeah, that. Well, unless I can get my hands on them. I'm supposed to be developing it soon, though.”

“A load of good that does us today. They're making us register move sets for tonight, and if all you've got is what you showed me last time, I'm not sure putting you on my roster isn't the same as giving four points to my opponents for free. Anyway, shadow-sneak good, teleport bad. Understand?”

Grace looked at him blankly and considered how he was patronizing her; and how she might get his attention. “I know this,” she blurted out forcefully while lightly punching him beneath his extended writing arm, electrocuting him with high voltage but very low current.

“Augh! Gah,” Percival fell to a half-squatting stance for a moment and stood again despite all of his extremities twitching spontaneously. “Don't ever, again,” he tried to point a finger at her but had trouble controlling his point, and instead took up a pen in a death-grip and scrawled a sloppy “thunder-wave” on Grace's profile card. It really was not legible. Percival called out to someone behind a desk. “Hey, do I have to turn these in right now?” A gym attendant informed him that the deadline for profiles was one hour before the competition began. “Good, that gives me some time to figure something out.” Percival headed for the door.

Grace followed behind. “Figure what out?”

The automatic doors glided open silently. “What to do with you. You've got shadow-sneak which is okay, but thunder-wave is kinda redundant since Frankie is a static-discharging pro, and magical-leaf? Not only does Sam have grass covered already, but magical-leaf sucks when you could have energy-ball or grass-knot. I've got to find a way to put some decent moves on you, or at least something different.”

Percival recalled her and released his bicycle with Indan Fall's library/pokecenter hybrid as his best-chance destination. There, he remembered how deficient the place seemed to be. “Hey, Joy!” he shouted as he let Grace loose and approached the counter, “Does this town have any T.M. shops or tutors? Heck, I'll take the address of a trainer who has a Psychic-type that's willing to teach if that's all you guys got.” He directed a thumb toward Grace, “She's hurting for attacks.”

Martha's response was colored by annoyance at how Percival addressed her. “Not a lot of options around here. If you want T.M.'s you might find a trainer with something to trade. In fact, check on the other side of the library. That's where we installed the teleportation room. A local boy went that way a moment ago and I think he has a Psychic-type with him. Maybe they haven't left yet.”

Percival passed through the library like he was cruising through a subway tunnel. For Grace it was far more interesting, as the admittedly few patrons were all faintly transmitting their thoughts of what they were reading, a familiar situation that she had become habitually attentive to. They discovered that indeed on the other side was a room that once served as a reference room with a table in the center. Now, it was a reference room with a table pushed against the wall and three silver posts cluttering its open space. Within stood a teenage boy, his starter, and a recently-evolved xatu.

“Teleportation is not one of my finer talents,” the green bird admitted. “I can move myself and as needed a guest a reasonable distance, but I will never master the focus needed to use these,” the speaking pokemon graced a pole beside herself with a brush of her right wing, “as freely as you might like.”

Her trainer felt annoyed and let it into his inflection. “And you won't fly for me, either?”

“For you? Of course. Carrying you? No, that would seem silly.”

The trainer's typhlosion butted in. “Nobody else seems to mind the idea.”

“You misunderstand. I would carry him if his welfare depended on it, but consider how allowing such a circumstance to come to pass would reflect upon me, given what my finer talents are.”

Vincent rolled his eyes a little. “Since you evolved last week, your finest talent seems to be being a pain in our butts. Let's go, come on.” He walked away with Theodore immediately behind himself, but his bird stood fast. “I said, come on. Vera, why are—”

“Because good things come to those who wait. Today,” she glanced around, “those who wait inside this room.”

With a frustrated groan, Vincent re-entered and took a seat at the room's long table. Theodore judged the room's chairs' arm rests to be a little narrow for his comfort and hopped onto the table's surface instead.

Percival started talking as soon as he got a look inside the room, library policy about low voices be damned. “Hey, are you the kid with the Psychic the nurse said was hanging around?”

“Probably. Are you looking to train against a Psychic?”

Grace drifted inside the room behind Percival as he hopped up to sit on the counter, too. The bird did not respond to her physically, but Grace felt that it was doing something.

“No, I'm trying to get this one up to snuff. It can't hurt me for her to be an option in tonight's comp, but her trainer,” a word he inflected with a mocking sarcasm, “hasn't done jack to get her a move-set. I'm hoping to find someone with some T.M.'s to trade or at least a Psychic who could teach her the basic stuff.”

Vincent drew out his trainer's device. “I should have some stuff to spare. For free Psychic moves, ask her.”

Vera opened her eyes and turned to face the group. “There are a few things I may do to help this one.” Grace approached her as she raised her wings in a welcoming manner, soon holding them against the sides of Grace's head.

“She's a cutie; has nice colors, too,” Vincent remarked as he compared the T.M.'s he had in his inventory against a list of moves known to be gardevoir-compatible.

Percival became uncomfortable and defensive. “Don't get to thinking things; like I said, she's not mine, and—”

Theodore, seated between the boys, reached across Percival's chest, planting a heavy paw on his distant shoulder, and leaned in, forcing Percival back a bit. “What kind of things do you think the boss might get to thinking?”

Percival became more uncomfortable and defensive. “Nothing. Just that, you know, trainers with certain species—”

Theodore cut him off. “Get a little too close to think of their pokemon as sporting equipment?”

“Not that, exactly. That they get a little too close,” Percival lowered his voice to proper library levels, “start sleeping together, you know?”

“I know I've slept beside the boss almost every night since he gave me my home.”

“Not like that, like,” Percival tried to make a hinting gesture, but could not move any parts that would make clear its meaning, so the best he concocted was a vague wiggle of facial muscles, “you know.”

“Yeah. I know. Boss, I don't like this kid.”

Vincent cut a list of a few cheap basics that he had multiple licenses for. “Tio, I can feel your temperature rising. Don't forget how hard it was for me to convince them you could be trusted around all the paper they keep in here.”

Theodore snarled, opened his mouth a little, and ran his tongue across his teeth before leaning back and releasing self-described future Pokemon Master Percival Finnegan. The image lodged in Percival's mind, as the typhlosion's fangs were noticeably larger than average.

Across the room between silver pillars, Grace and Vera engaged in small talk over a telepathic channel between lessons.

“And, that's it?” Grace mused.

“It will be simple for you to perform with practice. I see you have dabbled in manipulating dream states. Be careful, however, that you do not harm friends if you need to use it on them to energize yourself,” Vera advised, as she completed transferring her own experiences with the dream-eater technique so that Grace could understand how to perform it for herself.

“I know what that's like. There's a ghost in our house that uses it on us whenever she wants.”

“You allow that behavior?”

“We hoped it would go away and didn't want to risk a fight in our house causing damage. Joe's—oh, my trainer's—other pokemon is a blaziken, so he would have to use fire on her. After a while we just got kinda used to it, and as for damage…”

“Please, bring her to the forefront of your mind and allow me to see.” In absence of resistance, Vera strengthened her connection and investigated the situation briefly. “Her story about using dream-eater to help her friend; you trust that it is true, and know that only with love and compassion in her heart would she work so hard to allay his pains. That is why you got used to it.”

Grace almost rejected their link. “Whoa, Marianne is a hateful vindictive monster. The only things in her heart are ice and treachery. She said it herself, she wanted him to live on only because he was a daily meal for her.”

“Perhaps. I have not met that ghost, so all I can speak about her is what I see through you. From that, why do you vocally disagree with yourself?” Vera selected another strategy to impart and began to teach it before Grace had a chance to formulate a response. “Like dream-eater, this technique would not develop in you for a long time. It allows you to manipulate enhancing energies and focus it into a reflexive attack. That means, if your opponent has been beefed up with a lot of magic, this strategy can let you take it and cripple them.”

Percival announced as he entered his offer, “Alright, one street hidden-power and a breeder's earthquake for swagger, taunt, and toxic.”

Vincent confirmed their trade of licenses. “Sounds good to me. I got my vaporeon tested and he came back showing potential for a strong Electric hidden-power, so I'd like to see that in action. Breeder's license on earthquake, though?”

Percival snapped his T.D. shut the instant it chimed to announce the closure of their deal. “My uncle's got a ranch, so once in a while he sets me up with some goodies. And, as it happened, the kid down the street, too.”

Within their minds, Vera took in the sights of a strange, dreamlike world. “This is a peaceful place. Your mother gave you a great gift, and I thank you for sharing it with me. May I experiment?”

Grace consented and observed as the geography changed. Scattered stones of a ruined temple appeared, soon surrounded by dense bushes and trees. “Yes,” Vera sang in an uncharacteristically bird-like tone as she moved to stand atop one of the stones, “this method will serve nicely. Thank you, Grace, you have compensated me well for what I have given you. However,” Vera released Grace physically and let vanish their shared illusion while switching to vocal communication, “what I have done is all that I should do for you at this time.”

Grace needed a moment to sort herself out after sustaining Vera's presence in her mind for so long. Even when she had connected with her mother, the overlap had not been so great except on the night they separated, and then it was for only a few seconds. “Now, uh, now what?” Grace wondered.

The xatu had stepped back, leaned against the table, and placed her right wing over Vincent's shoulder. “Now, you relax, let your subconscious mind digest your lesson, and hopefully if you need to use one of those techniques, the right one will come to you.”

“And if it doesn't?”

Vera feigned concentrated thinking by turning her eyes and head to her left and glancing at the ceiling. “Call your psychic help line. Your first consultation is free, and I saw in your memory that they weren't there when you didn't need them, so perhaps they are as serious as they are legitimate.”

Grace's gills turned pink; she did not notice at all that she had been probed by the xatu. “How many of my memories did you look at?” she whispered.

“All done?” Percival asked above proper library voice volume.

“I think so,” Grace admitted, glancing to Vera who nodded affirmatively.

A librarian who noticed their seating arrangement from afar approached to scold them all, save Vincent who was using a chair properly, but as though perfectly timed to disrupt her plans, the whole group slipped off of the table's surface. At least they could still be accused of talking too loudly.

Percival stopped at the pokemon center side of the facility to see Grace taken care of, and to receive a printout on what her estimated statistics and abilities were. Vincent departed with Theodore beside him and Vera behind.

“You set this up, didn't you?” Vincent asked, glancing over his shoulder briefly, “Insisting after you evolved and I asked about long-distance teleports that we wait until today to try it, demand we be here at exactly this hour—”

“Making me miss my show,” Tio interjected.

“—so you could make us wait for that kid to show up.”

Vera caught up and gently nipped his ear. “You wanted to get hidden-power for Phil. I saw an opportunity.”

Tio stepped aside and glanced at Vera. “Two days ahead of time? From some guy we've never met?”

“Properly introduced, no, but his path crossed ours once before. Two days is no feat when fate is favoring you. I hope someday I can demonstrate something that requires a little effort to see through.”

Together they stopped near the park by the falls. Vincent whistled loud to call to a friend. “Alright, Vera, when you were little you always seemed one step ahead, but now that you're showing off your fine talent, how about predicting tonight's gym results? Am I finally going to get to pin my hometown badge?”

A dragonair emerged from the water and slithered up against Vincent.

Vera's eyes dilated as she raised a wing to block daylight. “There are countless paths, to see which will be chosen by so many participants is beyond me.” Her irises revealed their amber tone again as she leaned in close to Vincent's left ear. “Or maybe it would be more fun if I didn't spoil it.” She stepped away and whispered something to Theodore before taking flight.

* * *

  
Joe's jaw dropped as he came to realize Sulmepride Arena's scale. Seating dominated his view, lining the walls of a titanic bowl. The gallery was empty, of course, except for a crew of janitors checking for any scattered debris or damage.

Maximilian hurried him along to his proper position. “Mister Well will be joining you shortly. I have business to attend to.” He rolled his eyes and huffed, “Finally,” under his breath, now that his duty to the young Rainier was complete. Joe soaked in the luxury of sitting in the finest box in the largest arena in all of Ocimene, even larger than Tartaroyal's, a city where everything is done on a grand scale. He was siting in a chair that supported the asses of only the most influential people in Pokemon League. People fought fiercely and paid exorbitantly for far inferior seats here, and all he did to get in was to naively ask the right person for a fight.

Simon came in and sat beside Joe. “Since this match is somewhat symbolic, and you did say that this was to prove that you and yours could handle being alone, we will not be influencing our pokemon's actions. That is why we will observe from here. Also, while this is an official League match, there will be no limits on techniques used or other civilized constructs; all's fair in love and war, do you agree? Since I did book the entire venue, I thought it would be nice to let a couple guests enjoy the show with us, I hope you don't mind.” Joe twisted around whenever the heavy door behind him opened. First came a man who seemed vaguely familiar. Mr. Well introduced him to Joe, who recognized his name as that of “that guy on T.V. with the cooking show.” Next came an elderly man. There was no vagueness in his familiarity: he was the judge who D.Q.'d Grace. Third was a man dressed somewhat like a waiter, who brought some light snacks and drinks to serve. Fourth and fifth were two men dressed in solid black. They reminded Joe of the ninjas featured in films that Burner liked to watch, back before he evolved.

Simon introduced them, or at least, explained them. “These two men shall serve as our proxies as far as releasing and recalling our pokemon is concerned. Obviously they will have little to do, but this is standard League procedure for matches where pokemon and their trainers are isolated. If you will lend your champion's ball, we can proceed with our contest.”

Joe held Burner's plain red-and-white affair and looked at the ninjas. “Who do I give it to?”

“You may choose either to be your proxy, it does not make any difference.”

Joe handed his ball to the ninja on his left. Simon revealed Ivana's ornate capsule and offered it to the other ninja, who took it carefully in his gloved hands. They departed dutifully. Simon, Masato, and Calvin chatted about wealthy, refined, and celebrated topics until the kuroko took their positions ring-side. So far away they were that even beneath spotlights they were difficult to see. Once released, Burner looked about and, like his master, became instantly overwhelmed. He was also surprised to turn and see not Joe but a cinematic foe. As a reflexive response, his wrists flared and he took a fighting stance. The ninja stepped back slightly and was relieved when the sound of Ivana stretching her wings and singing something snatched away Burner's attention and explained enough of their circumstance. They took their positions without needing instruction and looked into each other's eyes. Burner recognized that she did not want to fight him. Ivana recognized that he was determined to defeat her.

With a flicker of strobe light and an audible chime, their battle commenced.

Ivana wasted no time and opened with the same combination that she used in her previous battle, whipping up a hurricane to sweep Burner off of his feet. She was successful, but she had no masonry against which to fling him. Burner tapped into his freestyle fall-recovery experimentation, and managed to land with a roll that got him onto his feet just in time to dodge the sheer-cold that followed her blasting wind. A little of the super-cooled fluid caught his right arm, but only enough to turn it into an icy cudgel that he was able to strike her with before the heat of his wrist flames melted it loose. He came at her with a blaze-kick, but she hopped aside and flapped her wings with great force, blowing him away again. Burner landed in a kneeling position and quickly gripped the synthetic rubber surface of the arena with all of his talons, resisting her second hurricane's buffeting winds with only a loss of a few loose feathers. He sprang forward and faked another blaze-kick, but coughed up an ember, taking Ivana by surprise and knocking her out of the air briefly. She was both thankful that it was not flamethrower instead, and confused that it was not flamethrower instead. He kept up his weak but elementally-effective assault for a while, until he started to grow fatigued of it. Sensing an opening, Ivana summoned a strange form of energy and directed it at him. Ancient-power was not a strong attack, either, but it was much harder to brace against than hurricane. Burner came back on her just as she thought that she could enjoy a moment to roost and catch her breath. She failed to evade another blaze-kick and cried out as she rolled across the arena floor. She did not tap out as Burner approached. He intended to pin her down and force their match's end, but she looked up at him with hurting eyes and he could not bear to do so. He reached down and helped lift her back to her feet. She walked with a limp toward the rim, leaning against Burner. She sang something sweet.

“Enough of this fighting. Come on, let's go to my room and relax together.”

Burner kept walking for two more paces. Then he stopped. He could imagine the one he loved saying those words, but the one he loved did not speak with that voice. He turned to face Ivana. Her expression shifted, from a phony contentment to a genuine despair. He shoved her away and she took flight with his momentum. Again she whipped up a hurricane with a supernatural flourish of her wings as she spun her body about. Burner was flung away, but he slammed his open palm against the mat as he rolled and gripped with enough strength to keep himself from rolling out of the ring.

Hearing her grunt with effort, Burner rolled to the side and dodged her sheer-cold. Clambering to his feet again, he saw the tip of her wing swinging behind her body and felt a wave of strange emotion wash over him.

Rather than enamored, he felt insulted that she kept trying to put the whammy on him.

Ivana shifted her strategy to one that was mostly defensive. She had little choice. Because hurricane was typically unreliable and Burner had demonstrated that he was ready to withstand it, she relied on ancient-power to knock him aside while she fluttered around wishing that this combat were a timed match. However, ancient-power was only a stop-gap. It was too fatiguing to keep using and it did not seem to be helping much, even after one use channeled some energy back into her. Also, somehow Burner was getting faster with his reactions; weary and disheveled, too, but even though he would probably fall to a few strong attacks could she muster them, no Ice-type attack was effective against him and she would not be able to out-pace him.

Distracted by her own thoughts as they rummaged through her memory in search of any technique that could reverse the situation, Ivana started taking hits she should have been able to evade. She tasted blood in her mouth. She desperately tried to cast reflect. Gesturing with her wing put it into harm's way. She fell to the arena floor. The pain was greater than any she felt in battle before. She wondered if it was a sliver of what he felt when she lost him. Her vision was blurred but she could see the distant overhead lights streak by as her body was turned over. She heard a sound, a delightful trill that only bird-types could master, carried by a voice of horror and panic. “Somebody, help her!” it cried out, but in a tongue that could not be understood by anyone else who heard it. With a bloody gurgle, Ivana tried to chuckle. Burner truly was a pokemon at heart, no matter how human his lifestyle had become. A bright red glow filled her vision.

To the humans, Burner's brief crowing sounded almost like a cry of triumph. The kuroko held no opinions on the matter. Mister Grovewell thought it despicable, and took his leave immediately. Iwamoto was far more familiar with the tongue of pokemon and whispered something into Simon's ear before departing himself.

With the players removed from the stage, Joe looked not out onto Sulmepride Arena proper but on a nearby monitor, displaying a feed from a camera that was left running, pointing at a place where an articuno lay moments ago, but now showed only fresh blood glowing red beneath strong lights.

“Congratulations, Mr. Rainier,” Mister Well began, “you've won your first battle against a legendary pokemon, your first battle in Sulmepride Arena, and the first battle that proved you and your little starter can get on with life not worried that a horrible monster is going to come and get you when you aren't watching each other's backs.”

“I don't think I'll need a second of any of those.”

“In the third's case, that's because you lack experience. The fact remains: nothing has changed today, yet. You aren't a better trainer, your blaziken isn't a better fighter, Ivana would still gladly try to bear his offspring, and no member of your family is any safer tomorrow than they were yesterday. What has happened is things are now put into motion. What you choose to do next will determine if anything changes today. I have business that demands my immediate attention. Your pokemon will be returned to you shortly and you will be seen to the car.”

* * *

  
Percival accidentally squeezed some mayo out of his gyro when Grace surprised him by releasing herself. Once she reconstituted, she tossed her hair a little, collected her ball, sat opposite of him, and glanced at his tray. “I guess you prefer to eat alone?”

“Food is expensive, and pokemon inside their balls don't need to eat.”

Grace glanced at him askew. “This one does. Doctor's orders.” She floated to the end of the service queue and read an overhead menu, hoping to see some of the less spicy berries as a vegetable topping, but settled for extra tomato. She ate with haste and determination, recognizing that Percival had no intention on waiting for her to finish at her leisure. “I guess money is a concern if you aren't winning enough battles to make money be the other trainers' concern.”

“I'm sure you guys are living large off of what Burner can bring in from prizes and field battles. Not all of us have A-plus pokemon on our rosters.”

Grace hovered her sandwich and fumbled with a napkin. “Didn't he come from the same place your pokemon did?”

“Sam and Frankie came from my uncle's ranch, but they weren't commissioned by someone planning to go for an international title. They're a couple of seconds that he felt were too good to release and had the right temperament to go to my sister and me. Fiona, well, she's testament to why winners don't catch wild when building a team.”

Grace's sandwich tasted somewhat sour suddenly. “Yeah, I've heard some things about those wild pokemon.”

A man in his twenties walked by and cast them a glance. “Like Neapolitan, with blue-moon instead of strawberry,” he thought to himself while generating a mental image strong enough that Grace could pick up an impression of it. She also sensed that Percival noticed something, although he was not privy to any detail at all.

“Source and stats aren't everything, though. It's all about the trainer.” Percival finished his last bite and tidied his table.

Grace withdrew her medicine from her purse and added it to the last couple inches of her own lunch. “You're right about that. I heard the last time they had a local tournament in Rennin, a guy lost because he let one of his pokemon screw everything up.”

“Yeah, I was there when it happened. It's a little continental, but trainers with inexperienced pokemon need to tell them what to do. Maybe he'll figure that out someday.” He stood to depart. Grace followed.

“I guess it takes a firm hand to hold onto the reins. I'm eager to see your leadership in action.”

Percival smirked. “The rest of Ocimene should be, too.” He took back her ball and set off for Indan Falls Gym.

* * *

  
Customs was a hassle. That was probably part of the reason why few trainers from Ocimene visited other regions. That, and the cost of traveling so far.

“One, clean,” spoke Hunter when he was asked if he was in possession of any Ocimenean examples.

“We're the judge of that.” Hague's customs agent took Onyx's ball and placed it in a machine for an intensive scan. While the speech T.M. had become a part of life in Ocimene, all other regions viewed it like a disease, and had maintained something akin to a quarantine for almost as long as the invention existed. There had been a few outbreaks, since some pokemon could migrate wide and far if they chose, but all were swiftly contained and for the most part swept beneath a rug. Nobody asked why once every few years, a number of wild pokemon were suddenly rounded up, “released to an appropriate habitat,” and never spoken of again.

Onyx's test results proved him to be S.T.M. negative, which made things a little easier. They still took no chances, however. Onyx was registered as an alien pokemon and, as though he were S.T.M. positive but granted a competition visa, given a chemical agent that would render him sterile for no less than a full year. Technology able to detect the speech T.M. came from Ocimene, and thus it too was not truly trusted.

From the port-of-entry, Hague waded through a shallow sea of welcome-center distractions. “See the REAL Ruins of Alph,” read one targeting Ocimenean travelers, hoping to incite a little offense and interest simultaneously. Everybody “knew” that the true first Arceus graced the ruins in Johto, while the ruins in Ocimene were merely a sister site, perhaps indicative of cultists having traveled there in ancient times, or of a connection between the lands forged by legendary pokemon themselves. One professor, soon regarded as a crack-pot, invested his colleagues' respect in promoting a theory about the ruins being connected through another world. His poppy-cock ran so thick that an anonymous philanthropist in possession of a great lugia ordered it to use its psychic power to open the professor's supposed portal. Aside from the spontaneous appearance of a strange navigational buoy in the middle of the sea—easily enough explained as a simple use of teleport—nothing interesting happened and the professor's theory was soon forgotten. Fortunately, he lived on an island that nobody really cared about and he only taught field classes to graduate students, so Scoparin University had no trouble down-playing that incident and aside from a few chuffed advertisements, nothing of those twin ruins being more otherworldly than before remained in the public consciousness.

The visitors' center did offer a useful map that outlined local attractions and points of interest. Hague read it as a refresher while wandering the streets of Goldenrod City till he found his way to its pokemon center. He sat in its lobby and looked around. Nothing had changed. Of course, pokemon centers were all rather alike, despite each being completely unique. A young boy and girl dashed inside with balls in-hand, declaring it an “emergency” because one of their pokemon was bleeding and the other seemed dazed.

O, to be young.

“Alright, time to read my mail.” Hague removed a tiny scroll, not much larger than a fortune cookie message, from a similarly sized holder strapped to Onyx's leg. In tiny print on the outside, it warned not to read until he had arrived at his destination. He unrolled it.

“Earn your stripes. Your starter pokemon is with you now.”

Hunter cursed under his breath and headed for the counter. He would need a trainer's device, and hoped that Johto centers kept a few pokemon in need of trainers on-hand. If not, perhaps a breeding facility to the south mentioned in the visitor's guide could help. It was not for fear that he could not catch pokemon, of course, but actually raising and training them? That was what drove him to his career of selling everything he trapped in the first place.

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Burner had not said much of anything since he and Joe were delivered to Manse DeWell and escorted to their suite. After a while, Joe beat on the bathroom door with his fist. “The situation's reversed, and I can't hold it any longer. I'm coming in.” Burner grunted neutrally; he had no concern for privacy or modesty as he tried to relax in the tub's pulsating jets, so if anything, he wondered why Joe seemed to feel like his loyal pokemon would judge and condemn him for exercising his privy.

Joe rested an elbow on a knee and his chin on that elbow's arm's palm. “It's weird. Without the flashing lights and fanfare and cheering audience, the great League arena seems so much like…” As Joe trailed off, Burner found a way to finish his sentence.

“…being in a ball, but with another pokemon.”

Joe began to tidy up. “Really?”

“It's dark and still, you're surrounded by a faint presence of confining emptiness, and yet, just where you are, it's bright.” A moment later, over sounds of swirling waters, Burner called his master's name and beckoned him near. Bringing his feet into the tub and pressing against its far wall, the rest of the blaziken's body was quickly forced out of its waters into an upright pose. “Did they tell you anything? About her wing?”

“No. Why?”

Burner looked into the water and let his knees bend, sinking downward by a couple of decimeters. “Sam. He warned me back when we played together that if I wasn't careful I'd hurt someone I cared about. It's starting to happen. Remember the night we lost to Percival? I went to Alice's like I said but she had to go to work; on the way home I ran into Sam. Sam ran into me. I didn't know it was him and I hurt him.”

“That explains some of the funny questions Percival was asking the next time I saw him.”

Burner nodded with a faint grumble. “I got him to the center and on the way back, we talked about being on Percival's journey and the pokemon we met. Today I hurt Ivana, just like one of those pokemon would.” With a flash of determination in his averted eyes, Burner straightened his legs again and gripped Joe's shirt not unlike how he once gripped Joe's jacket—“I don't want to be like them, Joe! I know I'm supposed to be because I was bred to be a champion's champion, but I don't want to be like that. I don't ever want to hurt someone I care about again!”—with similar consequences as Joe's sense of balance recoiled against the downward force of two pulling claws, and his shirt felt somewhat torn about the whole situation. Burner trilled with disgust as he noticed this, releasing his grip in favor of hiding his face with those talons and sinking as low into the tub as he could manage. At least his shoulders were only a little over the rim at that point.

Joe knelt beside the tub and placed a palm on each of those shoulders. “I think I know what you mean. Burner, if you don't want to fight anymore, that's fine. I won't ask you to; I promise.”

“No.” Joe braced himself against the tub as Burner reached across with his right arm and pulled him into a partial hug. “I do enjoy fighting, and I don't want you to make a promise like that, as though I can't trust you to make that sort of decision when it comes. Promise me something else instead, Master. Promise you won't let me become one of those pokemon. Promise me you'll stop me if I need you to. Even if it means we'll lose.”

Joe whispered into the feathers that cloaked Burner's left ear. “You got it.”

They shared a moment in a near-silence that lasted until Joe caught himself at the door. “Burner? You said, ‘someone you cared about,’ when you asked about Ivana's wing. Is there something you haven't told me?”

Burner shifted uncomfortably. “I don't have any, uh, feelings for her. But, I do feel bad for her. She wants family—something I am blessed to have, something we gave to Alice; and we know how much joy it brought her. I can't forgive Ivana for what she did to all of us, but I also can't blame her for wanting a family of her own so badly. And then, us using what happened as an excuse to use her to prove ourselves worthy to ourselves, I don't think that was right. It certainly wasn't worth breaking her wing for.”

“It was too! She had it coming. After what she did to you and Alice, she should have a few more broken bones. If it weren't for the rejuvenation machines—” Joe recalled his search for his torchic. “The old man with the star-something bird. That's why it's getting to you; you're feeling guilty about that broken wing, too, aren't you?”

Burner looked away for a moment, then directly at Joe. “Whenever I truly fight to win, someone gets hurt. Sam got hurt, twice. That bird got hurt. Ivana got hurt. I've given Alice more bloody noses than I can count.”

Joe giggled once with a smirk. “Don't blame yourself for that. She doesn't seem to count a fight as a fight unless that happens.”

Burner ignored his factual statement and continued. “Even that badge you won. Yes, it was his own fault because he used a reckless attack in a careless way, but still, that pokemon got really hurt. Percival told you he thought it broke something. His leg was twisted backwards at the knee, Joe, and he cried out for help because it couldn't move. I'll never forget his voice. I could have taken that hit. I should have taken that hit.”

“Burner, why didn't you say anything before?”

“I know these things happen. The people at the breeding facility gave us little classes to explain what it means to be a professional trainer's pokemon and to battle at that level. We don't bother our masters with our feelings about injuries our opponents suffer.”

“Burner, I want you to bother me with your feelings. Master's orders.”

Burner was a little surprised to hear such an assertive tone, and responded to it appropriately. “Yes, sir!” he replied with a forceful nod.

Joe exited, leaving Burner to wonder why he thought that spending so much time in a basin of water was a good idea.

* * *

  
Mrs. Towers sat inside a little private booth atop a somewhat tacky but poetically amusing tower that overlooked her arena, presiding as would a regent, and called out the match-ups that she wanted to see after examining each trainer's registration. Many trainers accused her of bias for her method, selecting match-ups that would favor one trainer over another. Percival certainly felt that way even before she made an announcement regarding his round. The look in her eyes when she saw him approach her circle told him that she remembered the zebstrika incident. “First things first, starters to start; let us see a sceptile and a typhlosion!” she demanded, using a royal third-person for a sardonic affect.

Theodore was caught off-guard after his opponent dodged two flaming attacks, and suffered a third only to perform a strange aerial maneuver and to drive him into the mat. This guy was experienced in fighting Fires. Tio changed his strategy and played evasively, staying near the rim and circling toward his trainer. “What do you think, Boss?”

Vincent approached the ring to answer and ducked a burst of leaves, as Tio only incinerated the ones that came directly at him. “I think you have an effective alternative.”

Theodore nodded and flared up, charging beneath another shower of leaves—turning them to ashes that scattered and vanished behind him—until he threatened to barrel directly into Sam. The sceptile dodged and tried acrobatics again. His opponent threw his weight back onto his rear legs and twisted at a crooked angle. Sam realized as he came down that Tio was not going to be directly struck while recovering his stance, but rather that he had predicted Sam's attack and intended to grapple him upon collision.

Using Sam's momentum, they flipped and rolled across the arena floor together. He did not even feel Theodore's fangs penetrating his scaled flesh. Theodore quickly released and feigned casting toxic to cover his maneuver's effect, and returned to an evasive pattern. Vincent started counting to twenty, but stopped around fifteen when Sam collapsed and weakly slapped at the ground, as though actually tapping out would be required at that point.

Mrs. Towers awarded Vincent three points for a somewhat suspicious knock-out, and called for a new pairing. “Let us see your elegant serpents. Milotic, dragonair, I choose you!”

A few chuckles came from the crowd, as Percival released a milotic that seemed somewhat awkwardly young and small, while Vincent released a dragonair that seemed quite chunky. Even Mrs. Towers muttered something about her use of the term ‘elegant’ before seeing what her trainers provided.

While the pokemon sized each other up, Percival glanced at his opponent. Vincent huffed and let his stance become slack, as though he knew this face-off was already over. Percival realized then that it was. “Fiona, ice-beam!”

Fiona twisted to look back at her trainer after performing as instructed. Truly it was more an expression of smug arrogance, but he did seem happy at what she did; a first.

Defeated with one hit, Vincent recalled his frozen dragonair and eagerly awaited his opportunity to recover the match with his third pokemon. He hoped it would be Phil's turn, since that would be a chance to see his hidden-power in action, but as Mrs. Towers seemed to be picking thematically-matched pairs, and he knew that Percival had a Psychic-type pokemon with him at the library, it would not be a surprise at all if—

Vera nipped Vincent's ear and paced into the circle, her feathers seeming to sparkle a little beneath the overhead lighting.

A forced cough came through the P.A. system. “As We were going to say before Our thunder was so rudely stolen, let us conclude with a battle of wits. Let a gardevoir challenge this fellow Psychic to duel.”

Shimmering in her own way, Grace too supplied a flashy entrance and took her position in the ring. With the light signal, Grace levitated herself and tried to synchronize with Vera.

“Be careful, young lady: if you synchronize with someone whose willpower is greater than yours, they control you,” Grace heard within her mind as her body spun about and was suddenly pulled backwards toward Vera who cast a heat-wave with a flourish of one wing and cast Grace away with a flourish of her other.

Grace stabilized her levitation and attempted to attack with her new psychic technique. Vera squinted and cast a light-screen.

“Shadow-sneak is your only effective option now. Will you use it against me?”

Grace used shadow-sneak. Vera accepted the blow, stumbled a bit, and cast reflect as she turned about.

“You have no effective options, now. Which path will you choose?”

Percival shouted from the side-lines, “Paralyze her feathery ass, Grace!”

Sparks crawled along Grace's right forearm. Vera closed her eyes and shook her head.

* * *

  
Upon answering the door, Maximilian barged into Suite 904 with a wheeled rack of clothing behind him. “You've been invited by Mr. Well to dine with him tonight. Dress appropriately. That includes a tie,” he noticed Joe's tattered shirt, “and garments that are not so well ventilated.”

Joe was taken aback by the invitation. He also realized that he would not have all afternoon and evening free to finish his homework.

* * *

  
Grace's hair frizzed out and refused to lie normally. Vera's feathers were fluffed as well, but more from disappointment than any residual effects of thunder-wave. Grace looked to Poke-master P, who seemed confused by Grace's thunder-wave having affected her till he was struck by his blatant oversight. A darkness swept over Grace and she fell to her knees as a telepathic channel re-opened in her mind. “You misplaced your trust.” Vera's night-shade drained Grace of all but a shred of her stamina. That shred wanted to fight back, struggling against the bird with brute force, but a glance at Percival and a taste of his mindset as her antennae aligned with him changed her mind for her.

Grace tapped out.

Vincent moved on to the next round.

Percival became angry.

Vera cast a wish for Grace's benefit. “You were right to come along after all,” she spoke aloud, touching Grace's chin with the tip of her extended wing's most pronounced feather after helping her up, “because you learned about coming to a point when you have no effective options. The next time that happens, be ready.”

Grace's vision turned red as Percival recalled her.

Vera yawned honestly as she exited the circle, but Percival took it as an insult. “Yeah, I'm sure it was boring. You probably foresaw the whole thing.”

“No,” Vera walked behind Vincent as he got out of the way of the next round's combatants with her wings over his shoulders, eyes half-closed as though she was fading asleep, “I did not expect that you would ultimately make such an ignorant decision and that she would agree to go along with it. I thank you both for the surprise.”

“What decision was that? The paralyze thing?”

“Your choice to enter tonight's competition.”

* * *

  
With what was now expected precision, Joe was extracted within sixty seconds of the top of the hour, leaving Burner to his own devices. He wandered around, struck a few notes on the piano, flipped through the channels, and found nothing of interest. Finally he resorted to the telescope. Taking a moment to figure out how it worked, he glanced around the city-scape for a moment, but suddenly the city vanished. He twisted the focus knob in vain and recoiled when the black image turned bright amber. He was startled again seconds later as he saw what was obstructing his view.

“Idis?”

The umbreon leapt from the balcony railing and invited herself inside. “Nice digs! But I have to admit, for someone who was tapped out during a mall-wide sale-o-thon, you certainly aren't afraid to drop dough on accommodations.” Idis took a running start, flew onto the bed, and rolled around playfully.

“Our stay is courtesy of Mr. Well.”

Idis's rings glowed through the bed spread that she had wormed beneath, and she struggled to resurface immediately. “You know Mr. Well? Like, personally?”

Burner was somewhat irritated and straightened out the covers after shooing Idis away. “Strictly business,” he asserted boldly, “I hope,” he added without any boldness at all.

“I see.” Idis took comfort on the couch and turned on the television. “Come on, friend, have a seat. If it's paid for, we should enjoy it all, right?”

Burner consented to sit beside her. “How did you get up here?”

“I have friends in high places who are willing to help me reach high places. Now, why can't I find it?” Idis tried directly inputting a channel number but it was rejected. “Oh, I know what it is. Here, take the remote, your claws can use this easier than my paws can.” Following her instructions, Burner was able to circumvent the content restrictions on the entertainment center.

* * *

  
Joe thought that ordering poultry would be a safe bet. What he was served seemed to be some form of alien gastrointestinal discharge; squishy lumps coated in a gelatinous film of a color normally seen only of candy gone bad and certain brands of soap. He picked at the vegetables that filled space on his plate, nursed his drink, and assumed a traditional child's role to be seen and not heard. Mister Well and Justice Barlow conversed at length about numerous topics, half of which seemed trivial and half of which seemed scheming. The common theme was, whether or not the matter was a change of sand trap layouts at Hexyloxy Country Club's twelfth hole or a debate over a proposed region-wide law that would eliminate some of the variation in how particular pokemon–trainer interactions were prosecuted in certain districts, Mr. Well had an opinion, and Justice Barlow listened intently.

“Mister Rainier; you've kept a solid silence. What is your opinion on the matter?” asked the judge of him.

Joe wished he had listened intently, too. “Ah, uh, pardon?”

“Do you believe that there should be a regional law guaranteeing that any pokemon who is eligible and qualified to serve as its trainer's attorney has a right to do so without said trainer's explicit authorization insofar as entering into romantic entanglements with other pokemon, and perhaps even an amicable human?”

“I guess I don't see why not.”

Mister Well chimed in immediately. “Because it would be like bricking up windows to deal with a poor seal that admits a draft during winter. I'm sure for obvious reasons you and your wild shiny have grown rather close. But, imagine if she fell in love with one of the neighborhood boys. Such a law would give legal grounds for disobedience in the name of ‘love’ when the simple solution to the problem that started this motion is to simply legislate that a journeying trainer's and his or her pokemon's personal affairs are regulated by the laws of their hometown district if there is a conflict between the rules of where they are and where they're from.”

Barlow almost choked on his wine. “Simon, you're fixing that draft by knocking a whole wall down. There's no way to get a two-thirds vote from the districts for a measure that lets any out-of-towner kid flaunt his home address as a license to break local laws. I don't just mean public displays of affection in Carthamus leading to raucous town hall meetings; ‘simple solution’ my eye, this would make law enforcement practically impossible for officers who would have to learn the particular laws of every district and somehow know where every trainer is from before being able to do their job. Do you want to issue a Psychic-type to every officer that isn't a Psychic-type pokemon itself and authorize probing without a warrant to check hometowns on probable cause?”

Simon smugly admitted, “I think I could arrange that,” and took a bite of steak.

Joe returned to their discussion. “I don't think either of those ideas would work, but what if a pokemon in love with somebody had a right to trade itself to that person or that pokemon's trainer? Then you know the pokemon wanted to be with the other one.”

Barlow adjusted Joe's statement. “Right to propose such a trade; no trainer may be forced to accept stewardship of a pokemon, in particular at a pokemon's demand.”

“Yeah. But, that way it would at least be possible for the pokemon to be happy.”

Simon spoke against the rim of his glass. “At the displeasure of its master?”

“I don't care about the displeasure of a trainer who doesn't care about the happiness of his pokemon.”

Barlow dabbed some sauce from his lips. “That's fine for you, maybe, but many trainers don't care that you don't care about them. Don't expect to win a super-majority on a premise that people should let their pokemon trade themselves away because they saw a warm form that makes them feel a lust that overwhelms whatever good sense—not to mention loyalty, faithfulness, fidelity—they might have. And, what trainer wants to accept a pokemon that might try to trade itself away to the next guy a week later? I'm talking only about a pokemon wanting another pokemon, of course, which has been handled free of legal intervention for over a century. Honestly, in the case of humans pairing with pokemon, which is what this whole argument is ultimately about, it's because the human spends so much of his or her time with the pokemon in question that their relationship becomes all-consuming and intimate physical contact is the only thing left between them.” Barlow turned to Simon. “Besides, this extended argument is a red herring, because pokemon almost never become attracted to trainers other than their own, and when they do, again, the problem works itself out privately without government meddling. This is about innocent—to use that term very liberally—trainers being harassed in places like Carthamus because an officer witnessed a human-shape pokemon kissing its master on the lips after winning a route battle so the teen gets hauled in and slapped with a deferred adjudication on a Class 1 that requires they leave town and not come back for a year or have their pokemon taken away, just because Carthamus wants to be the squeaky-clean district and doesn't care who pays for their image.”

Joe ran out of natural greens and ventured the alien meat. He immediately regretted it, but it did strike him with a simple compromise. “What if the law only went a little way, so that a pokemon that can, uh, attorney itself can be with its trainer like it were a person in any town, but none of that trading away stuff?”

“Slippery slope,” Barlow chided, “which is a problem with the whole premise and why it keeps crossing our benches: guaranteeing a particular right to a pokemon through law rather than through its rightful owner necessarily takes that right away from its trainer. As you word it, Mister Rainier, it is an affirmative right, but once established, what else can pass? One wave of sympathetic public sentiment and any pokemon that's S.T.M. positive and of moderate intelligence could be endowed with rights parallel to those of humans. And you might think that's a good thing, but trust me, it's not. Humans train pokemon to protect themselves against pokemon. That practice may have mutated into athletic competition and domestic companionship, but Mother Nature hasn't changed. We have to control them so they can control themselves.”

Simon recognized his opportunity. “Speaking of control, your blaziken really did a number on Ivana. It will be a while before she flies again.”

Joe started on some bread. “He's sorry about that, getting carried away. He asked if she was going to be okay. You have access to all the League records, right?”

Mister Well glanced at a knowing Barlow, both shared a smirk. “Not all of them. Just the material that's public, or in an appropriately gray area.”

“Burner said there was a pokemon who hurt itself in one of his matches. It was against a wandering gym leader last summer, and he won a badge for me. He'd like to know if that pokemon recovered, if you could find out for us.”

Simon's eyebrow twitched as he drew out his trainer's device. A waiter exchanged empty plates for dessert selections.

When he reached for Joe's plate, the boy interjected. “Wait, is this place too fancy for a take-away bag? My pokemon might like this, since he wasn't invited.”

Not taking his eyes off of the screen, Mr. Well advised against that. “Although akin to cannibalism, I'm sure he would enjoy that meat. However, that green stuff you found objectionable contains a significant amount of imported avocado. While it's true that canid pokemon like lucario can eat chocolate in obscene quantities that would fatally poison a normal dog, avocados and birds don't mix and I wouldn't gamble his well-being for the sake of secondhand feed.”

The waiter completed exchanging barely touched gourmet for soon-to-vanish ice cream.

Mister Well identified the pokemon in question. “Inactive, retired. I see that Bartholomew Gage has acquired a replacement and has discontinued leader service while he trains it.”

Joe's disappointment at hearing that was almost enough to put him off of his dessert, but venturing a taste, it became something to take his mind off of the matter.

“Are you going to tell him the truth, Mr. Rainier?”

So much for that plan. “Yes, Sir,” Joe admitted. Joe became uncomfortable with the silence that followed, and with how Simon matched Joe's rate of dessert consumption, speeding up and slowing down as necessary to ensure that they finished at the same time.

“Why?” Mister Well asked as he deposited his napkin and exited his seat. “He wouldn't ask if it didn't weigh upon his conscience. Neither of you have anything to gain by answering his question, and certainly telling the truth would not make him feel better. Even if he discovered the truth later, you could say I misled you.”

Joe considered Simon's point until they exited the restaurant. “Because… because I have to. He trusts me.”

Mister Well bid adieu to Justice Barlow and then ignored Joe throughout their limousine ride back to his hotel, spending most of his time talking to important people on his telephone. It wasn't until Simon got off of the elevator behind Joe when it stopped at the latter's suite's floor that anything seemed amiss. Joe continued toward his suite. When he reached for his door's handle, Simon forced a cough.

“I wanted a measure of privacy for this, since very few people know, and I expect you to help me keep it that way. You defeated my pokemon team in a League gym facility, and after your interview I have no reason to deny you this.” Mister Well reached into his pocket and withdrew a badge, gold with five jewels set within in the shape of a pentagon: opaque turquoise, shimmering cats-eye, deep lapis, clear ruby, and a burning orange topaz. “The serial number on that says ‘188,’ but back then, the League cooked the numbers to lessen after-market trade. I've only given away six of these before, so don't expect anyone to recognize it.”

Simon extended his hand to offer a shake to the victor once the stunned expression cleared from his face.

“Mister Well, can I ask you a question?”

“Quickly; I have business to attend to.”

“If you're a gym leader, were, why did you quit?”

“I was young and thought being rebellious would be fun. I grew my hair out, threw my allowance around, and called myself ‘D. W.’ to distance myself from myself. And, it was fun until things changed and I grew up. I cut my hair, went home, and took my place in the family business where I belonged.” Simon turned to leave.

Joe was unsatisfied. “But, why did you quit? What changed?”

Simon exhaled sharply. “I had to give a badge to a trainer after he caused me to lose one. I didn't feel like battling with my pokemon anymore.”

“But, you said you gave away six badges, so you must have lost a few times, unless they were all for merit.”

Mister Well raised his voice. “I said: I lost one. Goodnight.”

Joe opened his door when he heard the elevator chime and shut. Inside his suite he heard faint noises. One sounded like a typical narrator voice on television. He went toward the bedroom, ready to lie down and convince himself he could finish his homework on the ride back, or once he got home. “Burner, are you o—”

* * *

  
Thankfully, Grace was at home taking her morning shower when the selenium's effect kicked in. She was not expecting so much blood, though, and it brought back some terrible memories. Although it hurt like a bandage, she instinctively knew that the whole thing needed to come off once it began to slough this way and she kept tugging at the sticky bits until it was fully detached. She looked at herself; the bleeding seemed to be diminishing already, and there was a couple centimeters of a fleshy flap around her waist, surely a replacement growing in at its own pace. She looked down at what was her skirt, a crumpled heap in the bottom of the tub, awash in diluted blood. “What do I do with this?” she asked herself as she picked it up.

A stabbing chill rushed through her body, causing every part of her to stiffen. “You have two options: you can arrange a funeral service, or make it stir-fry. I haven't eaten food in a while, so pick the latter for me,” said a ghost that settled on Grace's head, snatched up a little shampoo through its bottle, and began working it into Grace's scalp as she recovered from the chills.

“You… you c-came back.”

Marianne stretched a long tendril downward and turned up the water's temperature. “I needed a little time to myself, a vacation away from all you annoying always-solids. I think I earned at least that much.”

Grace leaned into the warmer water. “Actually—we all do owe you our gratitude for helping to stop Ivana.”

Marianne quit massaging and yanked upward instead. “Helping? She was mopping the floor with you! Un-mopping it, actually, considering how much blood spilled onto it.” Marianne let go of Grace's hair and drifted through the shower curtain. “You're lucky I have no blood to lose and no life to risk.”

“And nothing to gain. Okay, you like eating our dreams. There are other people in town, and we know you hit the guy next door sometimes. Why are you haunting us?”

Marianne's face penetrated the curtain. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

Marianne drifted up against Grace's gills. “It's the only form of friendship a ghost truly understands.” She circled around and passed through the curtain again.

A few seconds passed before Grace yelped and reflexively teleported into Joe's bedroom after Marianne slapped the toilet's lever upon her exit, turning up the water's temperature once more.

James investigated a cry that sounded from two rooms at one time and found Grace, much of her skin flushed red from a moment of scalding exposure, dripping and presenting an expanded sense of her typical nudity.

“Grace? Why are you, what happened to your—”

She turned to face him. He blushed instantly and turned away, leaning his back against the door frame between them.

“Oh! I guess for a human this is…”

James went to the bathroom, turned off the shower water, glanced sideways at a pale mass in the tub, and returned to the hallway with a towel, tossing it into his son's room blindly. “That thing falls off?”

Grace improvised a loose towel skirt, preferring to support it more with her telekinesis than its own tension. “It's supposed to shed, but I think it's supposed to re-grow a new layer first. The doctor at the pokecenter said it wasn't working right and made me take some nasty medicine.”

“Wait there.” James left down the hallway again.

Grace sat on Joe's bed and reflected on what she felt when he looked at her. It was an old memory, good at its core but corrupted with negativity. It was almost as if, in a very indirect way, she reminded him of—

“My ex left some of her shit behind when she ran out on us.” He brought in a box that looked not only neglected but almost targeted for beatings. A few scuff marks on its side suggested strikes from polished shoes. “I know you've technically been naked since day one, but I'll appreciate it if you keep your… dignity, covered.” He attempted to escape.

“James?”

“What?” He was instantly very impatient.

“I'm sorry, but I felt something, when you looked at me. You remembered something, someone. Was it—”

“Yes. A long time ago, I loved a beautiful young woman, and the moment I first met her, she was, like you were… finish drying yourself and get presentable. Your trainer will be home soon.” James left.

Grace shut the door and toweled herself off while pulling apart the box's flaps. Psychic traces, almost too faint to detect, identified the objects within as the erstwhile Mrs. Rainier's. Grace hesitated for a moment at that thought, that she expected to become the next Mrs. Rainier, to some extent, circumstances permitting. She found a skirt that seemed suitable, and experimented with one of the tops. It was cut somewhat generously in the upper body, but its extra fabric helped to accommodate her dorsal node without alteration. Cinching the skirt with a pinned accessory, the fit about her hips was loose and comfortable. Settled near the bottom of the box was a small silver pendant. Grace reached to touch it, and felt assaulted when she made contact. No mere traces, the artifact was strongly charged with strong emotions. Although she thought about trying to sort them out, a distant sensation seemed far more attractive. She tossed the other garments back into the box, folded its flaps over, and left it in a corner of Joe's closet.

She teleported behind her front door, rather than inside and through it, and opened it wide.

A young man on the other side, to the instant exclusion of everything else on his mind, was happy to see her.

To Grace, that was all that mattered.

* * *

  



	16. Declarations

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 16: Declarations.

* * *

  
Grace spun with a flourish to present herself wearing her present from Sulmepride's fashion district, “Ta-da!” but Joe's vision was fixated on his trainer's device after he greeted her and proceeded to crash upon his bed. Grace forced a cough. Extending her arm, she curled a digit and telekinetically lifted Joe's chin. “Ta, da,” she said again, in a flat tone tinted with a little sarcasm, while flinging her arms wide.

“I knew it'd look great on you,” Joe commented before pausing and looking back at the glowing screen he held.

Grace lifted his chin again, drifted horizontally over his bed, took away his trainer's device, and leaned him onto his back. “We are going to have to work on your manners. You haven't learned how to properly compliment a lady.”

Joe blushed, gazing up toward her shadowed, quarter-rotated face. “Uh, I'm sorry?”

Grace placed her left palm on his cheek and kissed him on his forehead. “You will be if you don't make it up to me.”

“How do I do that?”

“Don't tell me how my new dress looks on me, tell me how I look when I'm wearing my new dress.”

Joe stared into her eyes, shadowed by her hanging hair but showing a faint but brilliant sparkle. They were kind, but serious. He could tell that the next word he said would be remembered forever, and chose very carefully.

“Glamorous.”

The gardevoir suddenly smiled, giggled, and shifted to lay her head on his chest. “Much better; that wasn't so hard. Did you find anything on that thing?”

“Not much. The League video library had one of Professor Oak's shows that mentioned gardevoir and gallade skirt health, but mostly it was about treating injuries in the field when there isn't a pokecenter nearby. He did mention that the whole thing can slough and regrow if damaged badly, but he didn't give any details.”

“Professor Oak?” Grace asked.

“He was some big deal a long time ago, when the League was new and there was still a lot of pokemon research going on.”

Grace sensed Burner's approach and opened the door away from his knuckles as he was about to knock on it. He peeked inside somewhat timidly. “Master James gave me a small grocery list. Do you need anything?”

Grace immediately piped up to rattle off a number of berries she wanted to try in hopes of finding at least one she truly liked.

This gave Joe time to think of something. “Actually, if you could stop at a cinema kiosk, maybe there's something educational that talks about gardevoir skirt re-growing… stuff.”

Burner nodded and left.

Standing to remove her fancy dress in favor of something more domestic, Grace shut the door and chided playfully: “You wait until it's a medical emergency that leaves me horribly disfigured,” accentuating her statement with a bare booty wiggle, “then you get ready to start learning about your pokemon's care and feeding. Way to go, Trainer.” She under-estimated how he would react.

“That's not fair! I never had pokemon before; how was I supposed to know?”

Hastily placing her palms on Joe's head, Grace apologized directly. In return, he thought about an explanation for his reaction. She did not really understand it.

* * *

  
A rugged jeep pulled up beside a large panel truck. Killing the engine, the woman driving it called out, “Hey there, it's not often I get to see the whole thing!”

The truck's owner stood a little straighter. “Do you like what ya' see?”

Sabrina let her keys roll around their ring as she walked from her vehicle. “I was talking to the cute one.”

A dragonite hefted a large crate filled with books from the back of the truck while Mr. Chambers' belt buckle angled downward as he sighed and let his no-longer-being-sucked-in belly return to its normal level of sag. Ford chuckled softly and whispered, “Better luck next time,” as he marched alongside Sabrina toward a small mail office. Mister Chambers scratched beneath his hat and felt around its felt rim for a tucked-away matchstick. It was a good time for a stogie.

“Are you sure?” Sabrina asked as she held a glass door open for the mail carrier whose arms were full with the mail he carried.

“I haven't lost a single piece in years, Ma'am, and I don't intend to ever again.” Ford entered his mail room with a hurried step, not because of the weight of the crate, but a desire for the door not to close on the tip of his tail. Dragonites seemed to consider that an embarrassing place for a scar. Walking back around a partition to the brass mail boxes, Sabrina continued her conversation with Ford in the way they most often went: through a hole in the wall after she keyed open her mailbox.

“Well, if you're sure, I guess I should think of some other excuse why he didn't send a third like he always does.” She listened to the faint hiss and scratch of a soda can being opened behind the thin metal wall.

“He apologized; you didn't acknowledge it.”

“I don't forgive him,” she spat, “I never forgave him. I won't ever forgive him.”

A cart rolled into the narrow path behind the boxes, and a rapid shuffling sound preceded Ford's response. “Maybe you should have told him that before he left the land mass.”

“Again? How many times… wait, he left?”

“That postcard was a BK0-XY postage-prepaid ‘Fun in the Sun’ motif, version two. It's only available as part of a bon-voyage package for people making long-term round trips to the continent through one of the mid-grade cruise lines.”

Sabrina thought it over. “Good. Good riddance. Well, except for that round-trip part. Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll fall off of somebody else's waterfall.” She slammed the door to her mailbox shut and twisted the key.

“Do you need any stamps?” Ford asked emphatically through the brass.

“No, I need Hunter to finally disappear from my life.”

Beckoned by a claw tapping on metal, she re-opened her mail box.

“I can't do much to keep him away if he comes back to visit, but if you want, I can make sure you never get another piece of mail from him again.”

Sabrina laughed faintly. “Then I'd miss out on the fun of throwing them away myself. Besides, what if he didn't put his name on one?”

“My offer stands. Let me know if you change your mind, Ma'am.”

* * *

  
Sixth-sense activated; a nearby presence was examining her body and finding it familiar.

“Hey, aren't you the lucario that's been working on the house across my street?” that presence asked after a moment.

Alice hated being recognized, but in a town where there weren't too many resident lucarios to try to blend in with, being inconspicuous was not easy. Her ribbons did not aid her cause. Sometimes she made eye contact with massage clients, but they valued discretion as much as she did. This man's hail meant that she was failing at one of her tasks: not to be noticed by the neighbors.

“Uh, you're Mister… Parente, right?”

“You've read my mailbox. The front half is Quentin. So…” He gestured for her help.

“Alice.”

“Alice, since you can communicate, would you mind cluing me in on what's going on over there?”

Shit. “Oh, nothing much. My d—uh, my master's done renovations and stuff like that, and since that place needed a lot of tedious but simple clean-up it became my job.”

“A creepy old dive like that should be cleaned with a bulldozer. I guess that means later on they're going to try putting renters in there again?”

“Nope! I—I mean, I don't know for sure. Somebody wants it to stay standing, but I don't think it's going to be rented out again.”

Quentin hummed. “That's been the big worry along the block. The last gang in there was a terror. And, I do mean ‘gang.’ They acted like they were a family but none of them really looked related, and people kept appearing and disappearing. Then there were some strange break-ins nearby. Suddenly, one day, they started leaving, each taking a small load of furniture or whatever with them until they were gone. There was a rumor about someone wanting to buy it, then pulling out, and that was about it. For the last few years, other than it being mentioned whenever a conversation turns to ghosts and haunted houses, that house has been forgotten. When word started getting around about something happening inside, everyone got worried the gang was coming back, or a new group of thugs were coming in. But, since it seemed to be only a few pokemon, you and—”

Quentin stretched his neck and lifted his chin to nod toward a blaziken towering behind a rack of goods some aisles away.

“—that one, and then that man with the truck came and changed the door, we figured it must be a renovation thing. Although that was at an odd hour. Was that man your master?”

Alice shifted her weight. “No, but, he's part of our family.”

“ ‘Our family?’ ” Quentin asked. Alice felt his aura change a little.

“Yes, no, not like the gang/family you described. It's complicated.”

“Family business; business family?”

Alice hesitated.

Quentin threw her a line. “How about, next time I chat with the neighbors, I'll let them know the big guy's helping you keep the place from falling in on itself and releasing a toxic plume of asbestos and worse to drift over our block.”

Her reply came as a sigh of relief bearing syllables. “I appreciate that.”

Mister Parente paused and added once he turned to leave, “Although, if some good people were moving in, I don't think too many of the neighbors would mind.”

Alice stood on her toes and straightened her legs to get a better view over the shelving. An employee was showing Burner something and they were having a muted conversation. A particular patch of his mane feathers stood out; he was nervous or embarrassed whenever that happened.

* * *

  
Percival flicked off his trainer's device and groaned with disgust as he leaned back in his chair. Even with a digital doppelganger of Burner on his team, he was having a hell of a time in virtual match-ups unless he boosted his team's variable stats above realistic estimates, and even then it just was not clicking. He spun his chair around and approached Sam's corner of the room. “Well, what do you think?”

Sam snipped a bit off of his new bonsai tree. “It grows well, but I wish you would have asked me before you bought it.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with it?” Percival was struggling not to become incensed.

“Because you will surely want to journey again, and I fear it will die the same way.” Sam glanced over his shoulder, expecting Percival to look incensed.

“Okay, next time I'll get you a book.” Percival was out the door when he heard Sam ask, “Why?” behind him. His passage down the hallway was blocked by a colorful fan. It was attached to a serpent that filled much of the bathroom. Water was running. Percival leaned over the long ecru lump with red and blue accents to speak through the upper half of the doorway. “Oh, come on. If Mom sees this she'll send me to bed without my supper, and that supper will be fish fillets.”

Fiona's head rose from the bath tub to glare at him.

“Don't you hop in Joe's pool when you start to dry out?”

She nodded and re-sank her head.

“Then why are you—look, why don't you go out back and have Sam hose you down or something?”

Her head rose again, grunted something slightly hostile, and spat a narrow stream of water into his face before re-submerging. As Percival staggered back and dragged his hand across his face, Frankie clambered over Fiona's tail, then reached back to lift Li'l Sis across. He bleated something slightly hostile as they left for her room. Next, Sam peeked around the corner.

“He said that she said that her head hurts and hot water made it feel better, and that you wouldn't understand.”

Percival replied as Sam un-peeked. “Of course I wouldn't; I'm not a pokemon.” He turned and looked at the fan that blocked the hallway and made his decision. “This is going to be such a waste of credit.” He returned to his room and picked up his trainer's device. Glancing at his social network blotter, Terrance had recently added a linoone to his roster, and Joe had received a second badge over the weekend. “What the?” Percival asked his T.D., not that it knew or cared to answer.

* * *

  
Pacing with intent speed down a sidewalk, Alice let the bags she carried bump together as she brought her paws behind her back and nudged Burner with her body. “What were you doing over there?”

Burner leaned over and gave her a gentle peck on the tip of her snout. “What, where?”

“You spent a little too long over in the health and beauty section, big guy. Spill it.”

“It's nothing. I, just had some questions about some things.”

She chose not to pressure him by letting him know that she saw him buy something separately and put it in his satchel before they met again with the rest of their goods. “Those things didn't include an itchy rash, did they? I got a little skin thing; my creme for it is probably still on the table in your house if Ivana didn't squish the tube just to be a bitch. Anyway, Doc Hass said it's nothing serious but if you got it from me—”

“No, it's not like that. I think Grace has your stuff; she said something about medicine to Joe.” His feathers flagged again.

“Burner, please tell me.” She stopped walking.

“This thing with Ivana has made me think and feel a lot of things. It's changed my perspective a little. How I think of myself, of us, of you. Her power to cast attract, it's different. I mean, it was used on me a couple times when I journeyed with Percival, and I felt the effect, but it was just enough to make me hesitate before attacking and after the fight it was gone. I don't know if it's because she's a legendary pokemon, or because she's probably at a high level, but I still feel the effects.”

Alice felt her own aura shift.

“It's only right that I tell you. But, please, don't react like I'm afraid you might react.” Burner knelt beside her and began whispering, in the language of pokemon, into her right ear.

Alice was so shocked at what he said, she stood paralyzed for quite some time, long enough to Burner to whisper her name twice hoping for recognition after he finished admitting the details of what was weighing on his mind.

* * *

  
She felt betrayed by him.

“It will be okay. Better, in the long run. For both of us, I hope,” he whispered as he increased the pressure. “And, it will be just once tonight.”

Comforting news—although only slightly—to Fiona, who closed her eyes and anticipated the horrible sound that was coming. Sam did not warn her how long and excruciating the speech T.M.'s install process was. He knew that would be better, in the present moment, for both of them; he hoped.

“Frankie?”

The ampharos was reluctant to help. He refused this treatment absolutely when it was offered, and did not want to be party to it being inflicted on a coerced, if not unwilling, victim.

“If you don't do it, I'm suspending your meat privileges for a month, and I'll get someone else to do it. Thunder-wave isn't unique to Electrics.”

Frankie relented and bleated an apology to Fiona, which Sam did not appreciate as it made her more nervous upon realizing what was about to be done to her was apology-worthy. Then, he climbed atop her body and discharged a steady current that tensed and locked her muscles.

“You got the cuffs on tight?” Percival asked, and with Sam's confirmation, he pressed a button and soon the damage was done.

About an hour later, Fiona had recovered enough to slither away to a beloved swimming pool. Despite her new capability, she said nothing to anyone in the house as she left.

Delilah gave Percival a cross look at her dinner table.

Percival would have rolled his eyes if that would not evoke an immediate punishment. “It's better if they can talk. If it wasn't, they wouldn't still sell the T.M. discs, you know.”

“Pokemon training is supposed to be about partnership, not dictatorship.”

“Ma, that's not what this is. And also, if you study the guys who win in the league, not just qualify but do really well, most of them are what you would call dictators.”

Delilah chuckled. “Like that Valley girl who applied for and qualified for National instead of Regional on her first year out, and now people are saying she might win the title and the tabloid photographers are following her around night and day? Yeah, she really bosses her pokemon around. That League video-zine had an interview with her; they caught her forcing her gallade to eat a cupcake with sprinkles after torturing her feraligatr with beach balls and foam noodles at a public pool for over an hour. What a hard-ass!”

Percival wiped his face with a napkin. “Doesn't count. Those are her brother's pokemon. He took a Regional title here and abroad with them, and semi'd in National. He knows how to train pokemon right. She's just playing with his toys while his father has him doing internship work so he can get into the biz.”

Delilah stood with a clean plate. “What do you think it says if she gets the title while he only got to the semi-finals?”

“It says either they caught a white-flag match-up last time, or they got better in the off-season and their trainer is so good he doesn't have to be there for them to win.”

* * *

  
Burner had a valid excuse. He was ordered to get a video about the nature of gardevoir flesh. However, what he received was not exactly health class. As the narrator warned that the next scene was more graphic and disturbing than the last, Alice could not bear to watch further and covered her eyes, but remained seated on Burner's lap. He held her tightly.

A hidden camera worn by a mole captured footage of a bisharp forcing a gardevoir against a vertical partition with a horizontal slit across its middle. Held fast, the gardevoir struggled weakly as two men with masked faces fastened its wrists inside silver manacles, and then its legs. A third came from behind, reached through the gap, and pulled its skirt through. The other two men departed and returned. The first gagged the gardevoir and brought a silver chain-maille coif over its head while the second fitted a wide leather strap around its waist underneath its skirt.

When the third man brandished a strangely modified knife that had wire woven in loops through the body of its blade and an electrical cord running into its grip, Joe motioned to reach for the remote control. James denied him. “You wanted to become a trainer, Joe. These are the bad kind of people I warned you about. Watch what they're going to do to him.”

Grace was next to shut her eyes and turn away, but trying to take comfort by pressing her body and mind against both of Joe's was of little help, since she felt his reaction to, and to a degree saw, the imagery he witnessed on the screen. Sound quality was poor, having been captured by a covert device, but between muffled screams and a sizzling sound of an electrically heated knife cauterizing the flesh it cut away from the pokemon, there was not much to hear. If anything, the lack of visual made hearing the sounds even worse for the girls.

The narration returned. “Gender notwithstanding, if the client sought further cosmetic alterations, such as artificial mammary structures to mimic an endowed human female, this process would also be applied to portions of his vestmental shroud. However, his physical and psychological pain is far from over. Soon released from this panel, he will be attached to another for further alterations. Our mole, who was unable to film this particular instance but has witnessed the operation before explains…” The video switched to a darkened interview room, where a man cloaked in shadow spoke with a heavily altered voice.

“Removal of antennae is a difficult operation. It isn't merely shortening, which is legal cosmetic alteration that domestic gardevoir inquire about somewhat more often than their trainers do, because it lets them lessen inconveniences their antenna structures cause when they adopt human lifestyle. Complete antendectomy removes all structure above the root plate. Sometimes prostheses are placed to give normal looks in public, or skin grafts, often from the skirt they cut off, are used to cover the holes and allow surgery wounds to heal quickly.”

The narrator returned as a montage of mutilated pokemon, mostly gardevoir, appeared. “At least, for the ones whose operations are successful. As these images attest, many of these illegal procedures fail, and when they do, the victim is disposed of like so much garbage. Sometimes, in bags.”

The scene changed to a man in a suit sifting through a binder full of photographs. Joe was startled as he recognized the man before “Detective Jacob Palmer, Rennin P.D., Pokemon Affairs” appeared on-screen. “They'll take a ralts, feed it the same extracts used to produce rare candy to make it evolve as quickly as possible, and set up a little theater. They'll let a number of people handle it while they're chemically evolving it, including the client, who they'll let it spend a little more quality time with. Once they see it's bonding to the client and ready to establish a permanent link, all the others will burst into the holding cell during a session and take the gardevoir away from their client. Evolved at an early level with no training of its abilities, it can't resist. Depending on the client's fantasy, they'll perform body modifications, sever the horns, and torture it to break its will, and if it survives, the client will come back to perform a mock rescue about a week later when it's healed enough to leave. With only horn roots, its powers will never develop properly, ensuring it can't function naturally, and because of the mind game they play, it will always be suspicious of well-meaning strangers, since that's what the people who attacked it seemed to be, and it will always seek comfort and safety in the heroic client, no matter what he or she would do to it.”

An off-screen interviewer asked, “No matter what?”

Palmer nodded. “And if it doesn't survive the alterations or has too much spirit, it winds up in here.” He lifted and fanned the pages of his binder.

“What is the police force doing about this?”

Palmer lost some posture. “Everything it can, which isn't a whole lot. The pokemon that get involved in this are taken from private breeders or the wild and few are ever registered. Unless the client is caught for something else and the pokemon involved can be legally removed, at least temporarily during investigation, there's little we can do pro-actively. Even in cases where it's obvious to anyone that abuse is happening and who is responsible for it, a broken gardevoir will never testify or petition for separation. Years ago when this practice first became an issue, pokemon with visible surgical alterations were removed by court order if the pokemon was unregistered or did not show the operation on its medical records, but after a while judges quit signing those orders.”

The interviewer asked, “Why did they stop?”

“Too many of the pokemon committed suicide after being removed. Gardevoir especially but other species vulnerable to psychic manipulation, too. The investment required to recuperate one victim and even to prosecute one client was just too great when it didn't do anything to prevent the next case. Today, our focus is on the criminals who perform these operations. Once in a while we can get a fresh face who is willing to infiltrate and bring us some evidence that we can use to shut down a shop and make a few examples. However, as long as there is a demand, someone is going to supply. And right now, there are a handful of people out there who want a pokemon, gardevoir or some other species, that will serve them as a pleasure slave; one that's been brainwashed into believing that it wants to be such a thing.”

The program's host appeared to summarize and close. “While any surgeon performing non-consensual amputations or augmentations on pokemon can be charged for their crimes, active pursuit has driven the activity underground, and as Detective Palmer's folder proves, pokemon are dying at untrained hands. If you, or someone you know, has information that could be used to prosecute a case of physical or psychological abuse of a pokemon, we urge you to call your local authorities. Pokemon ownership is custody, not control; and in Ocimene, it is a privilege, not a right. We at the Association for the Protection of Frequently Abused Pokemon thank you for watching this documentary. Our hope is that if enough people see what horrors are happening to our precious partners, someday no one will ever suffer through it again.”

James relinquished control of his remote as credits scrolled across the right half of the screen, but Joe watched on as an inset video played on the left. It featured a gardevoir with a full bust and shortened horns.

“I saw her near the street, hiding behind some bushes. I thought it was odd, but I could sense she wanted help so I approached her. She stood and I saw she was like me, physically, and I brightened up. I was always happy with the work I had done, but I was curious if she was, too. When I got up to her and offered to connect, she seemed confused. When I saw what was inside her mind, her memories,” the gardevoir choked up, “I felt so ashamed of what I did to myself. And also I felt like I wanted her master to die. I had never wished death upon somebody before. But she wanted him to live after all he'd done to her, so I called for the police and an ambulance. She hid in their house for a while. I brought her food. The last time I communicated with her, I tried to show her my life. She couldn't connect to me very well because she had been de-horned, but I got a connection through and I hoped it would inspire her, motivate her to start a new life. It just made her decide to follow him. I'll never forgive myself. Every time I look in a mirror, at these,” she gestured toward her alterations, “I see her.”

James rose from his love-seat. “You really know how to pick 'em, Burner. I'm going to bed early. Joe, you'd better do the same, and don't forget to lock up.”

Alice commented that she ought to head home. Burner asked her to stay over, and she nodded an agreement before sliding off of his lap and going into his room to re-arrange his bedding for two.

Joe gave Grace a hug and whispered, “I love you just the way you are.”

She squeezed him back, letting her ventral antenna press painfully into his ribs. “I never thought I'd be so happy to hear you say that.”

Joe winced and Grace blushed. She glanced eastward. “I'm going to talk to our pool guest right quick.”

As she floated away, Burner apologized. “I'm sorry, Master. I think I got the wrong type of show.”

Joe weakly slapped his arm with the back of his hand. “I figured something was strange when the parental content lock-out thing popped up. Dad set it for like, only the two highest levels, which usually you wouldn't be able to rent on my account. Still, what made you pick that title?”

“It was the only search result.”

“Well, don't sweat it. It answered a lot of questions I didn't know I needed to ask.”

Burner faced Joe. “Like how to make sure a gardevoir's skirt won't grow back?”

Joe flicked to regular broadcast. The screen displayed a number of numbered doors opening in succession. “No, more like why everyone acts funny when they find out I got a gardevoir as my first pokemon. But, that's something to know, too, I guess.”

Outside, Fiona gently touched Grace's skirt with her right fin as the gardevoir knelt beside the water. “Why you… now wear, cloths?”

“Because the one that was a part of me came off and until it grows back, this makes humans more comfortable. And, I kinda like it. Or I did until tonight.”

“What tonight?”

“I saw a video. It was very upsetting, about how to make themselves happy, some people do things to their pokemon that hurts them really badly.”

Fiona coiled beneath the pool's surface. “Master made him happy, do to me loud sound. Make me talk like them.”

Grace chuckled. “I heard it once, myself. I think it's a good change, though, because even though I can talk to almost anyone using telepathy, there are a lot of minds I don't want to connect with.”

“What ones you want to connect with?”

Grace stood. “Come inside, I've got an idea.” She teleported twice to appear at the back door with a towel and quickly blotted Fiona dry while she recovered her bearings. After getting permission from Joe, Burner, and Alice to do a little sharing, Grace squeezed between them on the love-seat and with Fiona's head perched gently above her own, helped the fish understand what a good mind felt like while they watched the tail-end of a more amusing television presentation.

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
James wiped some cold sweat from his brow. “Well, what do you think?”

Marianne spat some stringy, purple condensation against a wad of tissue resting in a small rubbish bin. “I think you need to smoke fewer cigarettes, drink more beer, and quit getting worse.”

James huffed. “I guess nothing stays afloat forever.”

“You said Mister Wrinklescrotum had a second option planned for you. Tell him that, after a promising start, his first has failed miserably.”

“Yeah, in the last week he cut me a check for repairs after his loose-cannon parakeet ravaged my living room and then my son beat him in a pokemon fight on his dime: I'm sure he wants to hear from me again.”

Marianne spat another glob and drifted over James' bed. “Ivana is his problem, accepting a battle challenge is his problem, your taking him up on his offer is his problem. And, since he has financial interest in this little medical program, you're the one doing him a favor. You would be warning him to adjust his portfolio before part of it crashes and burns.”

“The part of it that I'm riding in. Thanks for that analogy.”

Marianne laid flat across his bed face-up beside him and flopped a couple tendrils over his face. “Don't mention it.”

James swatted them away. “Get out of my bed, Ghost. You've got your own, now.”

She twisted and spun like a top before returning to her typical form. “Some hero's welcome. I knock Ivana out cold, and kinda help the squatter out, too, and it's,”—she mocked his voice for six words—“ ‘Get out of my bed, Ghost.’ But, when Burner lets a stranger inside that wrecks up the place, then he and your boy go off to break her wing in revenge, then it's, ‘Let's celebrate by having the squatter fix us a nice early dinner, catch a movie—’ ”

“That wasn't much of a movie,” James noted.

“I liked it. Especially the part with the hot knife; I have a thing for sharp edges. Anyway, speaking in the third person, I think Marianne might have a tiny reason to feel just a wee bit under-appreciated right now.”

James gripped his bed-sheets and turned over to face away from her. “I think Marianne has a lot of debt from being an ever-present pest to work off, and while her occasional good deed is not ignored, it's not going to fool anyone into actually trusting her, either.”

“Well, it should,” she whispered faintly as her bundle of tendrils fell into a straight downward dangle.

James turned over, looked at her, and scoffed. “I didn't know fake-tears was a move misdreavus could learn.”

Marianne drifted upward into the attic silently.

* * *

  
“There, Uncle, I sent you a link to his profile. See it? Pentachord Badge, serial number 188. Only three digits; it's not even alphanumeric.”

“I can tell you for a fact, Small Fry, that badge was minted a long time ago because they were transitioning from serial numbers to randomized codes about the same time I started getting my badges around your age. Did you do your homework on this?”

“You know I know you'd whoop my butt next time you came to town if I wasted your time with a question I could answer on my own. The League Encyclopedia does have the Pentachord Badge on the master list of badges that have been issued, but other than it being the badge of a leader called ‘D. W.’ with a seven month tenure, I can't find anything. It's like they wiped away everything but it stayed on the list because they still had to honor the badges that were issued. Heck, even the list of people who have been issued the badge in the past is League-eyes only. Joe's the only one that comes up, and the event is listed as a private blind match; kuroko proxies, no general audience, and no statistics except for the result.”

Ulysses huffed into his trainer's device's microphone. “Okay, I'll ask around and see what I can find, but the guy you should talk to is Masato Iwamoto. He's a nice old man who lives on the other side of town. You can't miss his place; it's all landscaped and decorated funny. Oriental style, I think it's called. He was Rennin Gym's leader until he retired from house duty and started wandering whenever he gets an itch for a League-funded sight-seeing tour. Since that serial number is the only evidence of when that D. W. guy was active, and it was that long ago, Iwamoto might be the only guy still involved with the League who's got a chance of knowing something.”

Percival thanked his uncle for the speech T.M. license and bade him goodnight.

“You're embarrassed,” a lizard listening-in nearby stated.

“A little,” Percival admitted. “I put a lot of time and trouble into you and Frankie and I've got nothing to show for it.”

Sam marked his page and set his book aside. The room became dark when he switched off his faux-sunlight array. “Is that what you want? Something to show for it?”

“You got a problem with that?” Percival grumbled.

“No.”

Percival wanted to call him on his lie. “Good. Keep it that way.” He started to nestle into bed, but before he could shut his eyes, Sam was on top of him with what could have been a leaf-blade pressed against his neck.

Sam brought his mouth against his master's right ear and spoke, “Percival; I really, truly do not want to begin to hate you. Do you understand?”

Percival acknowledged with a gulp.

“Good. Rest well, my friend; you have lessons in the morning.” Sam licked Percival's cheek before he retreated.

It had been a long time since Sam had done that, Percival recalled. Until sleep overtook him, he struggled to remember exactly when the last time was, but his memory failed him.

* * *

  
When everyone in the house but one was sound asleep, Grace could resist her curiosity no longer. “Come on, Joe, let me see. I want to know what I missed. It wouldn't have been any problem if I'd come along; that old rat just wanted to upset me and make me worry about you.”

As her voice penetrated Joe's sleeping mind, he began seeing a strange vision of chaotic pastel forms composing a chaotic landscape in all directions. He felt Grace's arms wrap around him and pull him backwards against her body. It was something that could not be done exactly the same way when awake, since only in her dream could her ventral antenna be experimentally dismissed from existence. He indulged her.

“I learned a little about how this works over the weekend, so all you have to do is concentrate on what you want to show me, and I'll make it real for us.”

Soon the pastel plains receded and the ground beneath them shifted. They were together inside the hired car, Joe sitting where he sat before. Grace quickly positioned herself beside him as the interior's form solidified. He was holding his trainer's device, but not for long as Grace snatched it and tossed it away. “Tinted windows, and in the movies these cars have a little thing that comes up and covers the window between us and the driver. We could've had some fun back here. I think we should visit this memory again sometime when you're ready.”

Even in his dreams, Joe blushed a little. “You'd like that?”

Grace twitched a little. “Of course I would. I know, I know, your father never liked the idea of us becoming close, and I've felt enough people reacting when we're together in public to understand why. Especially if they know about the kinds of guys that video was about. And, yes, some things will be different from how they would be if we weren't different.” She forced her left arm against the seat behind Joe to capture him within her arms. “But I know for sure that we're a good pair. I have since our first night together.”

Joe turned his head a little. Grace closed her eyes and turned hers, too. She was angling for a kiss and found it, interrupting Joe's reply for a moment, although he did not forget what he wanted to say.

“That thing you did to me that first night, is that how you know? And, why I felt so tired that morning?”

Grace's gills flushed. “It's weird, uh, if I can guess what we would have called it and translate it right, I think it would be something like, blind-mind-palpating. Don't ask me what ‘palpating’ means; that's the T.M. talking. Okay, it's like when we synchronize, except neither of us see anything. Only the deepest part of our minds connect, and it's like sharing patterns instead of things. I'm… not explaining this very well, am I?”

Joe grunted, “Ungh-ungh.”

“Let me try this.” Grace moved her left hand to Joe's left temple and tried to impart a sample of the sensation she could not describe. “See what I mean?”

Joe cocked his head to a side slightly. “I don't know,” he admitted, for he could not describe it either.

“Anyway, when you woke up, it was like a little voice told me that how you would react to seeing me would let me know if I would be truly special to you.”

Joe looked into her eyes as he did that morning. Grace felt him re-experiencing the sense of wonder he felt then. She leaned in and again they kissed. He put his arms around her and whispered her name.

“Grace, how will I know when I'm ready?”

She remembered a legend on a small paper box, and paraphrased. “When each of us is wholly doubtless.”

Her simulation was working better than she expected, although there were a few issues that she had not anticipated. The ride ended abruptly after their brief exchange of affection, as Joe thought of his arrival in Sulmepride. Grace followed Joe inside a partial recreation of Manse DeWell's facade. She could not explore the hotel's lobby in full, because only the parts that Joe saw were in his mind. She floated away from the main path and watched the projection distort as approximate forms and blurred colors filled gaps. Sensing their connection beginning to falter, she quickly returned to Joe's side. Although he did not seem to notice, he also was somewhat restricted, walking the paths he took when the memories were formed and being reluctant, although able, to deviate. Grace was happy to exercise some creative control, editing out parts of the memory that bugged her, such as Maximilian's presence. She was less happy to dismiss the vision of Burner when he appeared in response to Joe walking to where he was in the suite when he released his blaziken the first time, but Burner's actions, a strange hybrid of fixed historical account and predicted responses to Grace's presence and Joe's re-living the situation, were distracting at best.

Grace explored the whole of Suite 904. She stood before its piano and struck a series of notes: B, H, D#, E, H, B, G#, D#. Circuit completed, she returned to its bedroom to find Joe crawling beneath the covers.

“Going to bed already?”

Joe spoke through his pillow. “Tired.” She watched as he fell asleep. More asleep, she supposed.

Faintly, Grace heard the series of notes again. She quickly drifted through the room's greater space to investigate.

Another gardevoir was sitting at the piano. It repeated the sequence a few times more before allowing the tune to continue. “He went to bed and you didn't fol-low him? I'm surprised you'd miss the chance.”

Grace placed her right palm on the piano and leaned against it. “Actually, we're in bed right now.”

The other gardevoir banged a flat discord. “That's good for us. We are ve-ry glad.”

Grace started to smirk. “You're jealous, aren't you?”

A squint and a flourish on a few bars; otherwise she ignored Grace's suspicion.

Grace took that as an admission. “I guess that kinda explains your behavior. I know we don't get along, but, since I guess we're talking honestly and openly, please, don't take it out on me or Joe. We like you. We didn't, but you've grown on us.”

The song slowed a little, but became a little deeper. The gardevoir rode the sustain pedal. “I have grown, in a way.”

“I hope you mean emotionally. I don't think we can make the attic bigger.”

The song changed again, increasing in tempo and featuring notes from a higher octave. In fact, it seemed almost like each song took only a matter of seconds, despite having minutes of content and being played at normal speeds. “You are speaking nonsense. Perhaps you are over-tired from,” she swung her head around to gesture at their surroundings, “this effort. It is a little out of your league.” She started striking keys forcefully, producing as much volume as the piano could with its rear lid closed.

Grace glanced away. “I guess he can't hear this, or he can sleep through anything.”

The other gardevoir's latest chord decayed to nothing before she continued to play gently. “I don't need him to hear me yet.”

“That's a nice tune. It's sorta familiar. How did you learn to play it, though?”

“We needed to do something to keep from going mad.”

Grace chuckled. “I know that feeling. Now that the house is tidy enough to prove that it isn't only guys living there, I'm having to find things to keep me busy once the daily chores are done and Joe comes home from school. What do you do when I'm not seeing you around?”

The song was slow and wistful for a moment. “Listening. Waiting.” But it began to pick up again.

Grace looked at the floor. “I guess that makes sense. I guess you have time on your side.”

“I want time on your side.”

Grace looked at the gardevoir. “What does that mean?”

A crescendo built and collapsed as the current song ended and another began, a very mournful one. “Please, don't ask,” she said but to nobody.

Walking across the room toward the balcony, Grace looked out upon the city, or at least the part that Joe glanced at during his stay. A peek through the telescope revealed nothing but darkness.

“I really like this one,” Grace commented.

“It is a song of loneliness, abandonment, longing, and regret.” Her description of the tune's meaning seemed to conflict with the passage she was playing, far more up-beat than its first measures. A minute later, she started striking notes in a chaotic yet subtly meaningful pattern. “I'm always glad when that one is over. If you want it, I could give it to you. This one is more my style.”

Grace settled into a fancy chair and listened for what must have been six minutes before the gardevoir began singing as though she had been suppressing lyrics throughout her performance and could withstand no longer. “Inte a-vis tehisgo ies. Von ente wakaomok. Fau lega mioblij ful. Von da-le kukumliij. Ecla okul kiliskukumlij krai. Von lega hikhuub. Inte a-vis hikhiib. Avo se-nt elag ilgom. Alle komu wakaji egal. Avel peldi hikidsu ebah!” The lyrics fit poorly near the end; they must have been a translation. Her music continued for three minutes after her singing ended.

With a gentle one-woman round of applause, Grace stood and approached the piano as the other gardevoir finally wrested her weary paws from the ivory. “That was amazing. I don't know what any of those words meant, but your music makes me wish I could play a piano.”

The pianist squinted. “You should, but no matter. If you want to play, you can,” the gardevoir replied, before cracking a hint of a grin and coming around the instrument. “I can teach you those songs, if you will let me.” She drifted toward Grace, raising her hands near Grace's temples. Grace started leaning forward.

With a bright chime and a dull thud, the other gardevoir collapsed against the piano and fell to the floor, revealing Marianne hovering behind where it stood with a mantel clock entangled in her tendrils.

“What the, the, fuck?” Grace sputtered as she stepped back a half-pace. “Why did you… wait… aren't you… ” Grace looked back and forth between the ghost and the other.

Marianne tossed the clock away, letting it clatter noisily against the piano's rear lid. “I'm going to gobble-up this little fantasy and wake you up, now; try not to freak out too much.” Marianne flew directly toward Grace's face as their surroundings vanished as though splashed with a jar of ink.

Grace awoke to the sensation of a wall passing through her body as Marianne dragged her into the backyard. She did not feel well, somewhat dizzy despite being released to her own sense of balance by Marianne, who drifted over the shallow end of the pool, her necklace glowing brightly.

“Marianne, what the hell was that? Did you… is that how you feed off of us? You kill people in our dreams to make us panic and then suck up the emotional energy and we don't remember in the morning?”

Marianne glanced behind herself, as Grace's voice awakened Fiona who now peeked a little out of the water. “Something like that, but I wasn't the one about to suck you dry.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you were about to let that gardevoir dream-eat you. Did you forget you were asleep?”

“No, but I thought… I thought that gardevoir I was seeing was you, messing with my dreams and trying to screw with me. That's the kind of thing you do. And, you always seem to be lurking around after I see her. Even at the pokecenter when Alice was hurt.”

“Well it's comforting to know you're ready to pin all of your problems on me, but that monster you saw isn't my doing, and if it's powerful enough to project itself into whatever crazy dream world you and your boy toy like playing around in at night, you might have me to thank for you not being curled up in a twitching, drooling ball of psychic lobotomy.”

Fiona swam up to the edge of the pool, and Grace knelt to hug her head. “Marianne, do you really think that could happen?”

“I doubt you slammed yourself against the wall in that same bedroom for kicks, Kiddo, so something powerful out there seems to mean business.”

Grace stood again. “Yeah, but the thing that threw me against the wall didn't ask. The gardevoir you claim was going to hurt me asked to connect with me.”

Marianne's jewel back-lit eyes began to roll, but then they centered, indicating that she was actually thinking about it. “Maybe it's two things, but I'll be damned if I can figure out why anyone is interested in you in the first place. Anyway, next time a stranger approaches you in a dream and offers you rare candy, just say, ‘No.’ ” Marianne drifted to the roof and passed through its shingles.

Fiona asked Grace, “Is rare candy bad?”

Grace shrugged and returned to bed. Lying beside Joe, she fondled his hair a little and listened to his breathing for a while. Sleep was coming despite her wish that it would never need to again. Instead she hoped that her dream would be of something different. Something safe from the apparition that looked like a member of her creed.

* * *

  
A long row of magenta feathers stood like a ruined picket fence behind a large fallen tree. The moonlight was faint, but plenty for their dark-adapted vision to watch the action as snow-white claws slashed through the night and turned ice shards into splinters that glittered as they flew. Most of the sneasels hoped the older weavile would reign victorious and retake his stone throne, but none cheered him on, for they knew that when he fell, the victor would label their voices as those of traitors.

Indeed, their recently deposed leader was already growing faint, while his successor showed little fatigue. “Old fool,” spoke the new leader as the old caught his breath, “Why ask me to kill you? You taught me to survive when I was abandoned; you groomed me to succeed you; and when you failed us, I stood. I let you remain friend to us. You throw that away and challenge me because I will not let you command my pack?”

The new leader charged the old, intending to embarrass him with an immobilizing hold, but his opponent was still a little older, wiser, and more experienced, turning the new leader's lunge into a throw that sent his body against a nearby boulder.

“I asked for your help to save a member of our pack!” The elder weavile descended upon his protege and whispered into his ear to protect him from being disgraced before the sneasels he led. “She is captured by a bad trainer. You know well the cruelty of such a human, as do I. Fire guards her. I need our pack to free her.”

The new leader winced and gathered himself up. “Her. I see now. This isn't about leadership, it's about pity. You pity the worthless runt you created inside the klutz. We have starved because you took pity on the weaklings. I defeated you to rescue our best from your pity, and I ordered dead your precious pitiful. Yes, I know the one you want to pity again, the one that could do nothing but run, and I deny you. Held by a trainer, maybe one day she will evolve and become like you and I are. You would deny her that for the sake of your pity?”

“Like we are, or like we were, Cu—”

The old leader's sentence ended with a bubbly gasp as the new suddenly thrust his claws between the elder's ribs, piercing both of his lungs.

“You would pity her either way, wouldn't you? I deny you and the shame you bring on us all. Even the runts who are not worthy to stand among us deserve better.”

The henceforth uncontested leader of his riot hand-picked a few members to haul the body away and cast it into an abandoned mine's ventilation shaft.

* * *

  
“I think I used the wrong word. They're very close to each other.” Fiona admitted dejectedly.

Delilah was not about to change her breakfast plans a second time. “Only a pokemon could think the words ‘pancakes’ and ‘waffles’ are close to each other.” She looked at the milotic, whose expression looked almost ready to burst into tears between regret and embarrassment. “Perhaps. But waffles happened, and you're going to have to live with that for the rest of your life, because our religion does not permit third-term breakfast abortion. Now get your scaly tail out of my kitchen till I call for you.” Stomping her foot but inches from said tail, the milotic retreated.

Fiona passed a yawning Percival within the hallway. “What's got you down?” he asked her.

“I said the wrong word and I'm going to eat waffles for the rest of my life.” She slithered along.

Percival turned back as her tail's tip passed by him, “Do you even know what a waffle is?”

She shook her head, letting her fins dangle loosely.

“It's not much different from a pancake.”

“That's what I thought, but Mother said they're against our religion.” She continued through toward the backyard to curl part of herself in her wading pool.

Percival shrugged and asked himself, “Was there a scratch on that T.M. disc?”

Sam slid open Percival's window and crawled out, hoping to capture the sun's first rays. As Fiona was often either kept in her ball or no-longer secretly in the Rainier's pool at this hour, he was a little surprised to step on her tail and gave her an apology and a follow-up question, “How is your head?”

Fiona replied in their shared tongue. “It feels like it's too full.”

Sam chuckled as he dragged across the lawn a metal and plastic folding lawn chair. “Heads are stretchy. If you fill it up enough times, you stop being able to.”

“You like their words—those,” she said “books” using a vulgar human syllable, “—you read words from them, correct?”

“As many as I can.” Sam laid himself in an orientation opposite of the recliner's designer's intent.

“But you have all those words in your head from the noise.”

Day began to break and, through a gap in the surrounding sparse trees and houses, sunlight fell upon Sam. He hissed with pleasure. “Not all of them. Some words are old, replaced with new words, but they aren't perfect replacements. Those words, the thoughts that need those words, the people who thought those thoughts; they interest me most.”

“The things that hurt now feel good later?”

“Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. I always hope they will, because otherwise, there are a lot of good things I couldn't look forward to.”

Delilah shouted a call to forks.

Fiona tensed and writhed. “Are you coming in for food?”

Sam tensed and writhed, too, to maximize the amount of his bushy tail that was in the rising sunlight. “I'm taking my breakfast out here; thank you.”

The milotic re-entered her master's home. Although she knew that she did not fully understand the sceptile's philosophy, she did feel ready to suffer whatever mysteries a ‘waffle’ was about to bring upon her.

* * *

  



	17. Reservations

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 17: Reservations.

* * *

  
A dismissal bell rang, but Mr. Plovo never seemed to heed it, talking through its tone. “And above all don't forget: if it doesn't burst into flame, dissolve through the table, or make your hair stand on end,” he started slapping his desk with a wooden ruler, “it! isn't! science! So, if you think you can get away with vinegar-and-soda volcanoes or mints in cola bottles, I think you can wipe up the mess with your evaluation sheets, since the big red zero I'll write on them will have them worth about as much as a disposable towel. Proposals are due first thing Monday; not end of class, and I'll take a letter for every day you're late. Now clear out, I'm done watching you all contribute to the heat-death of the universe.”

Mister Plovo sat an electronic chatot on his desk. It had a motion sensor, ensuring that as the pupils walked by on their way out, the chatot flapped its wings and chanted, “If your projects are boring, you're all gonna fail, raaawk!” Solymar flipped-off the toy as she passed. Its beak nipped at the tip of her finger. “Next time I keep it!” it warned with a whistle.

Miss Foley complained to Joe as they walked down the corridor. “You know, we could've worked out a plan for this project last weekend, except it seems you couldn't resist the call of the pokemon masters.”

“Yes, I do know. You've reminded me every day after class this week. You make it sound like a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, Rainer. This project is a big chunk of our grades, and that's why I'm going to have to chase you home and make sure you don't sneak off to any more animal abuse sessions until we have a project picked out. At least my half will get done.”

Joe stopped at a junction where their paths would diverge. “My half will get done, too. And it's not animal abuse.”

“In what way is it not abuse?” Scarlet asked.

Joe noticed that she seemed almost saddened that she had to ask. “Because I was the one who had to get used to pokemon fighting. I guess Burner was kind of born and raised for it, but he does it because he wants to compete. He knows he can stop any time he wants, and he's told me how he does and doesn't want to fight.”

“If what they want to do and what you want to do are different things, why don't you let them go?”

Joe thought for a couple seconds, stepping out of the way of senior traffic. “I think that would just hurt their feelings.”

Scarlet's expression projected a playful sarcasm, but her tone could not fake that emotion. “Nothing's worse than a pokemon with hurt feelings.” She merged with the up-stream flow while Joe worked against it to attend his next class.

* * *

  
Alice awoke to the sound of her alarm clock with a sudden burst of energy. Not because she awoke feeling refreshed and rested, but because of a sense of vacancy. Her aura sensors came to consciousness a fraction of a second before the rest of her mind; a gap just wide enough for their failure to detect a friendly presence nearby to raise a concern. In the past, it would only happen when her Daddy would slip away and make breakfast, and she would feel foolish that for a heartbeat she thought he was gone. Anymore, she felt foolish as she still expected to sense him moments later. On nights when Burner kept her company, she awoke peacefully. His aura was different from Walter's, but both made her feel like she could completely relax. Almost completely.

She rolled out of her bed and straightened its sheets before heading down a dim hallway to open paired doors to what was her favorite feature of the house: its balcony. Great trees grew thick surrounding it, hiding it completely except during winter, and even then it was not conspicuous. Using aluminum foil applied to cardboard as reflectors, light scattered through the habitable storey. It was a wise alternative to opening the street-facing shutters on a regular basis; the neighbors were already talking too much among themselves for her tastes. Alice took a mental note to gift Quentin something small and thoughtful to aid in securing an ally.

Finding herself in her second-most favorite feature, the one bathroom that still had fixtures, local news aired on her wind-up radio while she brushed her teeth and swished her mouthwash. Sixty percent chance for showers. If clouds had auras she might have been more certain, but it was good enough to hope for, even if it was likely to drench her while traveling to work. The chamber enjoyed no running water service, but its many drains drained, and the mirror was only partially corroded and broken out. The bathtub looked like something had died in it, which wasn't far from truth. It now held a row of buckets for water. A little rain would make for an appreciated re-fill, so she gathered them up and set them on the balcony.

As usual, she sneaked out through the cellar hatch and took the least-conspicuous route she could to Rennin Pokecenter. Waiting to be worked-in and checked off as recovered, her aura sense barely had time to warn her before Roscoe forced his way into Alice's mind to bid her a good morning; nearly afternoon, as she had slept in somewhat. His tendency to do that to her was annoying even after she learned that it was non-malicious. The first time scared her out of her wits, when he detected her spying on people in the park. She then accepted his advice to watch over his friends' group, which proved to be among her best decisions since reaching Rennin. But he also suggested that she work at Mrs. Song's parlor. That was something Alice felt mixed about. She was hired on the spot, and she was paid in cash; vitally important for someone who has no legal residence, no bank account, and technically is not legally someone. On the other hand, she worked at Mrs. Song's parlor, which was nothing to be proud of. Nonetheless, here she was, waiting to get a medical clearance so Mrs. Song would let her work with customers again. In her mind she remembered when she called Mrs. Song and sent the digital copy of her post-Ivana health report: Having a crack in her skull repaired with modern technology, no big deal, but a rash? “Why you get itchy? Who give you that? You tell me, I tell Maku to take care of him… .” The old woman had ranted for a long time after that but with words flowing too quickly, and apparently in other languages that Alice's version of the speech T.M. was unprepared for.

Roscoe imposed again as he crossed the lobby a second time, now holding a small bag from the pharmacy. “She takes care of her girls, even the ones who don't offer premium member services. You seemed like someone who needed to be taken care of. That's why I suggested that job, and earlier, suggested that you spar with us.”

Alice rose and quickly followed him as he approached the teleportation room. “Roscoe! I guess I should thank you. I don't know what I would have done in the long run if I hadn't met the right people.”

Roscoe's head tilted downward ever-so slightly before he grumbled aloud. “Think nothing of it.”

Alice's number was called by an attendant as Roscoe vanished with a flash and a rapidly fading glow.

* * *

  
Grace winced after she opened the door for her master and his accompaniment. Scarlet reacted unexpectedly, leaving Grace both somewhat confused and watching Joe being shoved away from the door and taken into a hopefully private conversation.

Scarlet spoke through her teeth with a face nearly as red as her hair. “You have a Psychic-type?”

“Yeah. You didn't know?”

“I knew you had more than one because I heard someone making an inside joke I didn't get about it.” Scarlet wiped her brow. “Is it a male or a female?”

“Her name is Grace.”

Scarlet pursed her lips for a moment. “Alright, do you know how its ball works?”

“Yes, but I'm not going to put her in it if that's what you're going to ask next. If you have a problem with her, you can go home. I can handle a science project myself.”

“No, fine, just tell her to stay out of the way, okay?”

Grace called out from the doorway, “I got the message.”

Scarlet maneuvered behind Joe and pointed at the pokemon accusingly. “Stop that! Get out of my head!”

Grace slouched. “I'm not in your head. You're broadcasting your emotions like you want the neighbor's T.V. to pick them up.”

Joe stepped aside. “Scarlet, are you okay?”

“Let's get this project worked out.”

Grace drifted out of the way as Scarlet stormed inside the house. Joe shrugged and cast Grace a glance as he entered behind his classmate and directed her to the room on her right. The gardevoir moved toward the kitchen, considering the change in terrain. This girl was not the flirt seen in Joe's memory the week before.

Scarlet stepped aside blindly against the bedroom's north wall as Burner paused his game and stood to welcome Joe home. “God, it's even bigger up close.”

Joe returned Burner's hug and began an introduction. “Burner, this is Scarlet Foley; she's in my science class and we're going to pick out something to do for a project today. Scarlet, meet Burner.”

Burner extended his right arm, and softly cawed, “Ma'am,” when she extended hers to be taken up.

“At least you trained him to be polite,” she spoke weakly as he sat and continued his game.

Joe slung his backpack onto his bed and opened it. “He wasn't hatched a gentleman, but close.”

Scarlet arched an eyebrow as she watched Burner's game character—a very slight and effeminate man with bleached hair and a sword the size of a pick-up truck's tail-gate—slice through the supple body of a succubus with tits each the size of her head. “I wonder what made the difference.”

In the kitchen, Grace spun a salt shaker on its lower rim with her mind. She really wanted to force her way in and do something. Anything. She didn't know why, but she wanted that girl out of her house. Part of her conscience reminded her that she was supposed to give people a chance and that Scarlet might not be a bad person after all and they might even be good friends given a chance. Then, a tiny voice inside her head said that it was a horrible idea.

* * *

  
“Why don't you take a hot bath?” Simon was becoming very irritated by his pet. She kept huffing little balls of frost and whining with a musical lilt.

Ivana looked over her shoulder for a moment, then laid her head back down on the rim of a meters-wide, round cushion that she liked to rest upon between flights. Not that she was flying any time soon. Using the service entrance was an embarrassment that she bore for both herself and her master.

“Don't ignore me; use your translator.”

With another whine, she gently pecked a tiny button on the machine clipped to her good wing, and as it came on-line, she whined again. “I hate this. Machine man voice is disgusting.”

Mister Well made a quick portfolio adjustment before the real-time figure dropped three points. Perfect timing. “You broke your old one, so the prototype will do until your replacement is ready. Now, why don't you take a hot bath? Have Max spoon-feed you a bowl of ice cream with hot fudge and nuts while you watch pornography. Make the most of your down-time, Ivana.”

She whined again in an indignant way. “Thrusting his cream isn't flooding my life bucket.” The prototype translator suffered difficulties sometimes.

“Good. You're getting what you deserve. Now, quit moping like a spoilt little chick.”

“I'm not moping.”

Simon bought back into the stock. It started to come around again. “Then not-mope in silence, please.”

The stock regained two points before Ivana broke that silence. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be. For decades you've been enjoying the lap of luxury that I provide for you for doing nothing more than exhibitions, and when an actual challenge comes up, you throw the fight.”

Ivana quickly turned to face him. “I did not choose to lose.”

Simon slapped his desk and stood with a little undue effort. “Bullshit, Ivana. You cast down-draft hurricanes over and over and you want me to believe you were trying? Open arena, high ceiling: you could've thrown him and both kuroko into the cheap seats with your first move. Why didn't you?”

“Because I wanted to freeze him. You won't understand.”

“I understand.”

She rested her head again.

“It was like when you were little. You would fly off and make ‘friends’ in the forest by freezing any pokemon who wasn't ready to run or fight back, and Cedon would follow after you to warm them up again and bring you back home. You've always over-estimated the quality of your schemes, Ivana.”

Her voice was almost too low to be picked up by her translator, “You knew and you didn't punish me?”

“I considered it, but then I thought about why you were doing it.”

“I was stupid,” she said as she fluffed her feathers and tried to bury herself in her plush pseudo-nest.

“No, you're in love; and with a pokemon who is not attracted to you.”

“Story of my life.”

Simon left his stock market interface to kneel beside her and stroke her feathers. “I'm sorry; I did what I could, and maybe that failure Hague will pull through for us.”

Ivana fluffed up again. “It feels like cheating.”

“And that boy's blaziken wouldn't be?”

She seemed to think about it for a moment. “I should have both.”

“You're completely incorrigible, Ivana.”

“Join me for ice cream with hot fudge and nuts.”

Without a stop-loss sell order in place, Simon would eat more than a desert when his stock ultimately lost five points before the close of trading. He would not care a whit about that.

* * *

  
Alice was happy to see the reserve come into view; only a few more blocks to go. Without the smelly house, that was probably where she would have made camp, at least until she got caught. Whenever she remembered the ramification of that possibility, she stopped being happy about seeing the reserve and instead felt happy that a better place was waiting ahead of her.

A place where almost all of her family lived.

Grace met Alice at the door, and they greeted each other with a wordless hug. Since both had defensively-weaponized torsos, it was awkward the first couple times, but with Grace's being larger and duller than Alice's, it became quite natural once they worked out an appropriate angle and offset. Grace's body always felt warm, but she was a little cooler this day than her usual. Alice concentrated upon a message so it would adsorb upon Grace's antennae.

“It's nothing,” Alice heard as Grace opened a telepathic channel.

Obviously it was something.

“No, really,” Grace insisted. “Okay, we'll talk later,” she whispered, “take care of your business.” That was more like it.

Alice showed herself to the bathroom, shut the door behind herself, and shook a small dish of potpourri that rested on a shelf. Its presence resulted from a recent vote—bathroom: scented or un-scented. The vote followed strict gender lines, and Marianne appeared in order to force a tie soon broken by a coin flip in the girls' favor. Scented won. With their victory came the responsibility of selecting a flavor, which became an argument that the boys felt to be a touch of karmic balance. After disagreeing with every suggestion that Grace and Alice could think of, Marianne admitted that she only wanted to see the boys lose and did not care insofar as it be a natural product, asserting that her senses worked differently: she smelled what they could not see, tasted what they smelled, and “knew” things that they felt. To her, artificial scent agents tasted like socks, and she was willing to share that sensation with anyone who brought in “laboratory waste jar residue.” Marianne refused to explain why she cared what the bathroom tasted like.

If only she could, Alice would stand beneath that shower head for hours. Alas, the last thing she wanted to do was to make a noticeable impact on the Rainier's water invoice. The head's pulsation feature penetrated her coat quite well, which was sometimes bothersome, even when she was small. Mostly the problem with bath time was time. Walter would become anxious when they were indisposed after things got bad. He figured that would likely be the moment someone would make an attempt on them. Alice's small paws struggled with soaps and shampoos, but if he did the work for her, she had to monitor for any advancing dark auras. He never meant to hurt her feelings, and he never truly did, but she understood his underlying emotion when he would comment that it would be advantageous if she would hurry up and evolve; to increase her sense's range and focus, to make easier her use of motel washroom facilities without his aid, and to be stronger if something did happen. Nothing ever did, but her extra sense still activated on its own when she bathed. She sensed Burner nearest, Joe a little further away, and a third aura near them. Unfamiliar; maybe the neighbor boy was visiting? It did not feel like him, however. Alice concentrated. Grace was sitting pensively in the kitchen. There were no shadows, though, so Marianne was not in the house.

Alice finished washing herself and toweled off from dripping-wet to generally soggy. She made another mental note: A hair dryer attachment would be a worthwhile investment, as the stock blunt end was nearly worthless around her shoulders' and legs' thickened accents. As dry as she could reasonably get, she exited the bathroom intending to visit Burner and Joe, but felt herself being pulled away by her shoulder. Alice followed the insisting force's lead until she sat at the kitchen table. Grace's aura looked sort of sticky to her, if that made any sense.

The gardevoir spoke at a level slightly above a whisper. “That was rude. I shouldn't use my power on you like that. Forgive me; but I don't think you should go in there.”

Alice asked again what was wrong.

“Joe's science class partner is in there. They're working on a project. She doesn't want them to be interrupted.”

Alice canted her head. “B's in there, though.”

“He's keeping to himself with one of the video games. Apparently that's acceptable pokemon behavior.”

Grace's aura showed frustration. Alice was not sure what was going on, but she was not going to let her kid sister be bullied, which is what it sounded like to her. Grace gently tugged at Alice's shoulder telekinetically as the lucario left the table, but did not intervene further.

“Another one?” the stranger griped when Alice walked in, leaned over an array of scattered papers and handouts, and gave Joe a peck on the cheek before kneeling beside Burner and giving him a crushing hug.

Joe was enchanted by his digital textbook pad but managed another introduction. “Scarlet, this is Alice. She's not mine, but she is ours. Alice, meet Scarlet Foley.”

Alice twisted to face Scarlet, but Scarlet was already turning her attention back to the paperwork and started writing something in her notebook.

A moment later, Scarlet muttered, “Two fighting types. That's an unnecessary weakness. Are you sure you're a trainer?”

Alice leaned against Burner, pushing him just enough to disrupt his game-play.

Joe dismissed the criticism. “I'm not putting together a League team. I told you, they're my friends first. That, and the sake of your grade, is why you said you would speak to me again for the time being, remember?”

Soon, Grace appeared in the doorway. Scarlet reacted immediately, “I can't concentrate with all these interruptions. Won't you please put them in their balls?”

Something happened; a wordless exchange between Joe and Grace. Alice's sensors splayed, responding to a strong shift in local aura flux. She looked at Grace and sprang to her feet. “Okay, you're right, Grace: I've said my hellos; it's time for your baking lesson.” Alice approached Grace and gently pushed her out of the room.

Once they were out of sight, they heard Scarlet again, “Baking? I guess that would make a gardevoir good for something respectable. But you really shouldn't have one of those like you do. Even if she is a shiny and you want to show off, people are going to assume…”

Alice distracted Grace with tasks around the kitchen, as this seemed like a situation calling for the universal panacea: fresh-baked cookies. They would serve her plan for Quentin, too, and the opportunity to bake there seemed right, since the smelly house's oven was likely a fire hazard if it even functioned. It was likely somehow a fire hazard just sitting idle. Grace acted with haste and sloppiness when Alice asked her to gather supplies, slamming cabinet doors and letting things skate across the counter-tops. She sensed when Alice decided to grasp her, but failed to evade completely.

“Grace, be nice. I got a good read on her aura while I was in there. Deep down, she's apprehensive.”

Grace scowled incredulously. “I got a good read on her thoughts; she sees us as low animals that can be stored conveniently when they would become inconvenient to have around, taking up space and breathing all the air in the room.”

“I can't read what she's thinking consciously like you can, but without being invited to look or forcing your way in, you can't read what's happening in her soul like I can. I know that whatever she has been saying to you, pokemon make her a little nervous in her gut.”

“And how do you know that? Was her aura quaking in its boots when I came in to ask if they wanted me to bend over backwards and bring them some drinks?”

Alice took Grace by both of her hands. “I know because Daddy was apprehensive too.”

Grace's demeanor shifted immediately, and Alice re-took her seat at the table.

“Our first day together was okay, but he didn't really know what I was. At the end of the first week, he understood that I was developing my ability to speak with every word I heard him say. He started realizing that between my body shape, typing, and speech T.M., he had done something more like adopting a child than picking up a trained guard dog that can stand on two feet like he expected. He tried to hide it, but he got worried that he was in over his head, and when he learned more about what a lucario can do with its powers, he got scared. His aura changed. Her aura is tainted too. She's afraid of our abilities.”

Grace was not particularly interested in Scarlet's condition anymore. “He was scared of you?”

“Not of me, but of what I could be. I understand now that he lost his confidence and second-guessed his decision, but at the time, I really only understood that he was withdrawing from me and I started feeling alone even though we were together; like sharing a park bench with a stranger. But he got better.”

Grace got a couple glasses and poured lemonade for herself and her mutual confidant. “You hit him with that little riolu charm?”

“Not exactly; but I fixed him. It was kind of an accident. He was looking at a calendar and I asked about it. He explained how each square is a day and all that stuff. I remembered seeing a calendar in my father's house soon after I hatched; passed days were struck out, so we found that page on Daddy's calendar and he counted how long it was since that day and when he got me. Because he had owned me for a few days longer than I was with my father, I asked him if that meant he was going to be my daddy now. He said, ‘Yes.’ Then I asked him if he would go away like my first father did, and he said he wouldn't.”

Grace choked up as she swallowed; feeling Alice's emotion as a precursor to her body's reaction. Tears welled in the lucario's eyes and she slowly covered them while lowering her head until it met with the table.

* * *

  
Ford stood on the porch of a general goods store. He was not allowed inside, but since he was not involved in the Pokemon League and performed an important role for the community, nobody gave him any real trouble, and a few residents of Yureido Cove greeted him warmly as they passed. The truck he waited for arrived on-time; its driver was good about keeping a schedule and rarely deviated from his patterns. “Good afternoon, Mr. Chambers,” said the dragonite as he approached the truck with a large bag over his shoulder.

The driver hopped out and put his hat on as though he felt naked without it. “Good morning, Ford. Just because you get up too damned early doesn't mean you need to rub it in around us lazy bones.” Mister Chambers opened the back and crawled inside, around a piece of exercise equipment whose design shouted late-night infomercial impulse buy and a small pallet of bricks and mortar mix. “Here's this half-week's toil for you.”

They exchanged Ford's bag for one that looked much the same.

“Toil? Call it a stereotype, but postal work is a dream job for a dragonite. That's why we're the mascot on the emblem.”

Chambers secured Ford's bag and hopped out of the truck. “Whatever you say, but don't you get tired of asking people if they need stamps all the time?”

Ford looked around to be sure no one was within earshot and leaned close. “Are you kidding? Once in a while one of the mine widows is looking for a little help getting her stamps licked.”

Chambers elbowed Ford. “Get out of here.”

“Hey, they know that the postdragon always rings their bell twice.”

“Recently?” Chambers asked.

Ford shrugged a little. “Not recently, actually.”

“You know, I've got a girl about your size you might like to meet. She used to have a thing for one of my guys but they had a fight over somethin' and now they won't look at each other. He's my only one that can talk and he won't talk about it, so I'm thinkin' whatever it is, they're probably splits for good. Anyway, I like lettin' them horse around in the evenings, but she keeps sneaking off to have a little fun by herself, 'bout as often as she and he were sneaking off to have fun together. Whenever she's not, she's looking pretty damn depressed when she's not putting on a show for the other one. I think it'd do her good to meet a different male in her weight class. Of course, everyone living up here like their privacy and peace and quiet, and I'm no exception, but I wouldn't mind you coming around one day a week for a call more social than to drop off junk labeled ‘Resident’ for me to pitch into my fireplace. If you two were to hit it off, I'm sure we could work something out. She's not in your group, and I got her on the prophy shot anyway, so there's no risk of consequence. Course, if you are lookin' to make some eggs someday, I guess that might be a deal breaker.”

Ford was visibly embarrassed. “I appreciate your concern for both her and my, ahem, well-being, but right now I've kinda got a crush on someone. I don't know how she feels about me; I'm getting mixed signals. But, I think I want to see where that's going to go. I guess if it goes nowhere I'll ask if your two got together again.”

The driver shut and locked his truck's rear door. “Okay, but I hope you're not missing a big opportunity here. She's a favorite of mine: strong, dependable, got a big heart. If she were a human,” Chambers held an innuendo-laden grin until Ford fidgeted, “Hell, at least tell me what species you're passing her up for.”

Ford looked around to be sure no one was within earshot and leaned close enough to whisper, covering the side of his mouth with a paw.

Mister Chambers' jaw fell slack. “What the fuck are you doing associating with trash like one of those?”

The dragonite was visibly shamed and insulted as he looked at Mr. Chambers with eyes that burned with rage but begged for forgiveness.

“Ah, shit!” He removed his hat and kicked his truck's tire, staring away for a couple seconds while regaining his composure. “Ford, I didn't mean that like that. But every dealing I've ever had with one of those little gremlins has been god-awful, and the few that get bigger cause even more trouble. I damn sure hope if you're getting involved with one it's a rare good one and that she don't have any family that's going to come hanging around. I don't want to see you hurting 'cause of a bad decision. We go back too far for that.”

Ford hefted his sack. “I have to get this sorted and make my village rounds.”

“Dammit,” Chambers shouted, “I said I was sorry.”

The dragonite ignored him and went into a small building that served as a mail office on two days each week. Climbing inside his truck and jamming a key into its ignition, Chambers grumbled, “It's going to be one of those nights, tonight. And if he gets hurt, she gets hurt.”

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Alice was happy that her cookie recipe proved to be a hit. Grace felt like she was about to pull a muscle from the strain of faking smiles at slights and resisting an urge to throttle Miss Foley, which piqued when Scarlet found a blue hair in one of her cookies and used it as an excuse to expose her opinion on the matter of pokemon cooking for humans.

That hair belonged to Alice, but Grace claimed responsibility and broke niceties. “It's a good thing that hair was cooked or you might risk catching something. I came in from the wild, too, so you don't even know where I've been. I could be crawling with cooties. Shall I freshen your drink?” Grace reached toward Scarlet's glass. Scarlet reached too, intending to out-pace her. Grace applied telekinesis and smirked when Scarlet caught nothing but the air behind it.

“No need,” Scarlet stated firmly. “If you'll excuse me.” She stepped away and set her sights on the bathroom.

Grace smiled like a cat that caught a canary. “Gladly!” She brought her hands up to her temples and giggled when her faint, momentary glow faded.

Joe turned in his seat. “Grace, what did you just do to her?”

Grace returned with filled glasses and a disappointed expression. “What do you mean? ‘Do to her.’ I wouldn't touch a hair on her head. I wouldn't want to, what with hair touching being such a big deal to you humans.” Seeking additional punctuation, she suspended her levitating power completely and let gravity put her in her seat. It creaked a little from the impact, and Grace suppressed a wince triggered by its force's equal opposite.

Alice could not resist the remainder of chocolate chips at the bottom of the bag. “Scarlet is right.”

“Don't ever say that, Sis. Especially not when we're trying to eat.” Grace shoved a third of a cookie into her mouth.

“Working professionally, one wild hair and a call to a poke-phobic health inspector and you've got a problem. I can't let myself be sloppy.”

Inside the bathroom, Scarlet sat in despair, staring at a bare peg. There was not even a spent core dangling upon it. She glanced around for emergency reserves but found none. She hung her head, feeling defeated; and justified in her opinion of domestic pokemon and doubly so that of Psychic-types. She felt a strange cool breeze run up her spine and a sensation of her hair lifting away.

“Nice mop you've got, girlfriend.”

Scarlet looked up and saw a ghost looking down. “How many does he have?”

“Mops?”

“Pokemon. He said he had two, but they come out of the woodwork around here.”

Marianne floated around and hovered against the rim of the bathtub. “Surprise. What's your deal, got a quota? Two's your limit so now you have to start throwing us back?”

“Zero is my limit, Misdreavus.”

“Marianne.”

Scarlet lowered her eyelids and turned to a mocking tone. “Pleased to meet you, Mary-Augh—”

The ghost gagged Scarlet's mouth with a wad of tendril. “Say it right. Mah–rhee–ahnn. If you ever call me ‘Mary-Ann,’ I will rip your hair out through the roots and make it my wig for dressy occasions.”

The tendril dispelled when Scarlet reached to pull it away. “You've got to be kidding. You couldn't possibly—.”

Marianne drifted through the wall. She returned a few seconds later, pulling the front half of a purple-tinted blaziken into the bathroom with her. Scarlet reflexively twisted a little upon her throne.

“Chicken, if I tell her I'll do something mean to her, I mean it, right?”

Burner looked into Scarlet's eyes. “The ghost means it.”

Marianne dismissively shoved him back through the wall and television in Joe's bedroom. “Now, I smelled some delicious anxiety in here, but you're being both snotty and boring. What gives?”

Scarlet blushed and gestured. “I've got a couple problems here.”

Marianne glanced around. “Let me check things out.” She floated about in a few chaotic directions and faded away.

Joe watched as Alice dragged Burner from his game and into his room. She claimed that she wanted to warm-up before work, but really she just wanted to spend some time alone with her beau. At least as alone as would be possible and tactful with a missing door and company paying a call. Joe turned to Grace who was eating a berry as much to keep her from tearing through the rest of the cookies as it was to provide balanced nutrition for her still-regenerating flesh. “She's been in there for quite a while.”

Grace took Joe's right hand with her own left. “Makes it nice and quiet, just you and me.” Grace turned his face with her right arm and ventured to kiss him, but they were interrupted.

James walked into the living room and called out, “Why did I just find two and a half toilet rolls in my closet?” carrying the suspicious objects like a small pyramid.

Grace's gills turned red as she blushed in response to Joe scolding her with her own name. Heads turned as the bathroom door opened and a combination of wild red hair and wild violet tentacles exited with somewhat stifled laughter. Scarlet's composure returned in a flash as she approached Joe, ignoring Grace as though she were not there. “I'm gonna get going. You know what's left to do for your half, we'll compare notes at lunch on Monday, 'kay?” Scarlet went inside Joe's bedroom, gathered her things, and departed, bidding goodbye to Joe coolly and to Marianne warmly, pronouncing her name properly.

When the front door closed, Marianne turned to face and approach those present. “I like that girl.”

Grace faced Marianne, leaning forward with her palms on the kitchen counter-top. “I hate that girl.”

Marianne drifted toward and against Joe. “You should marry her.”

Everyone felt Grace's reaction. “What!”

“What's to ‘what?’ She's bright, has a good attitude, and is great at sizing up people.”

Grace leaned further forward as though the counter were her only restraint. “What makes you think that?”

The ghost spoke through an irrepressible laugh, “She hates you and Alice.”

Grace narrowed her eyes and floated away. “She hates all pokemon.”

Marianne drifted alongside Joe as Grace set about finishing the kitchen's clean-up. “Denial: not just a river in Egypt.”

Joe turned toward her. “Where?”

Marianne's eyes flashed. “Oh, it's a desert resort. Kinda like the one in Isshu, but with less legendary dragon and more baba-ghanoush.”

Joe shrugged and retired to his room.

James beckoned the ghost. “I'm supposed to be on a schedule.”

“Yeah, yeah; I'll leave two for you tonight to make up for it. Might as well use them up since you need to switch tracks.” Much to his relief, Marianne turned away from James before shouting, “SQUATTER!” and drifting into Burner's room, meeting Alice's curious stare. “Quit stroking that hot red cock of yours; he's going to give me a hand with something.”

Alice unhanded it with a sigh and checked the clock on her telephone. “It's about time I leave for work, anyway.” Burner stole a quick kiss from Alice before she could leave, eliciting a melodramatic “Ewww!” from Marianne, who flopped her tongue out and gestured with a tendril as though she had intent to purge.

Inside the garage, Marianne directed Burner's attention to the attic hatch. “It's stuck. Open it, Muscles.”

“Can I ask why?” Burner muttered as he gripped the hatch's handle. It did not budge.

“You guys bought me that ghost bed thing with Ivana's apology money; don't you want me to try it at least?”

Burner tugged again. Something sounded like it splintered. “Yes. Can't you carry it up yourself?”

“It's made of silver. I can't phase it through, or through it except for the gaps in the weave. That second part is how it's supposed to work as a bed for a ghost.”

Finally, the hatch gave way. A lot of stale dust dropped through the opening. Marianne quickly carried the box containing her gift into the attic, returning only seconds later. “Okay, close her up and pretend this never happened. I'll re-glue it later. And if anyone asks, I sold the thing; probably will anyway. A sturdy clothes hangar after hanging one on has always been good enough for me.”

“Glue?” Burner asked.

“How do you think that door got stuck? Listen, that is my domain, now. Besides, there's nothing up there any of you guys need to get at, unless you want to look at a wedding album or some old baby stuff, and I can bring that down without the door being serviceable. You've done your bit, shoo!” Marianne encouraged Burner to return to the living space.

* * *

  
At Mrs. Song's, Alice slipped into her cheongsam and inspected the list of appointments. A large number of members were coming through this afternoon and evening. That was actually good news since she was unwilling to provide many members-only services, so aside from walk-ins she would probably have some gaps in her program to relax. That was not to say that non-members would not try to negotiate a free sample, but they knew that there was a house rule: get fresh with one of the girls, and the other girls get fresh with you. If that was not deterrent enough, Maku was one cry for help away. Maku was Mrs. Song's hariyama. He liked it when someone overstepped their bounds.

Where those bounds were exactly, however, varied between employee and customer. Some were granted more leeway than others. One of the usually forgiven trespassers was Alice's regular. Four-o'-clock, always on the money. He was a member, but never partook of many of its privileges; just a select few.

“Good afternoon, John,” Alice grumbled with her ears bent to a middling angle as she entered the room.

He was already all but nude and on her table. He did not respond until she approached, whereupon he took up her left paw and kissed it; fearlessly, as its spike tip and his eye became quite near to each other in doing so. “Beautiful Lucario, won't you reconsider?” “John,” according to his alias, raised himself up and put an arm around Alice, pulled her in, rested his face on her shoulder, and kissed her neck softly while taking a deep breath through her fur.

“Never. Down, boy. Let's get this over with.”

“Yes, my queen,” he whispered, and returned to his prone position.

Throughout his massages, “John” babbled about problems at work. Mostly, trivial matters over office trifles, like possession of favorite staplers and use of card-game software over the network. Although her demeanor usually showed irritation during their sessions, Alice's ears stood straight upward when “John” let slip information allowing her to deduce where exactly he worked.

“John, why do you call me your queen?”

“Because if you would be mine, I would humble myself before you.”

Alice bit her lip. “If you could arrange something in secret I would be willing to let you show me what that would be like—”

He almost leapt from the table. With a barely-forceful force-palm, she pinned him back down against it.

“Just this once.”

After a brief discussion, they came to terms.

* * *

  
A ludicolo opened the door, but Percival was addressed by an absol. “State your business here,” she grumbled.

Percival was taken aback by her tone. “Is this Iwamoto's place? I've got a question for him.”

“A dubious gift, since you'll expect an answer in return.” The absol turned away and trotted inside. “You may wait here until Sensei completes his meditations, or you may go home. Remove your shoes beside the door if you enter.”

Looking around the living room, which clearly did not see much use, Percival inspected a number of framed images. Many were old photographs of League champions, shots of dynamic battles, and group photos of gym leaders at conferences. One that caught his eye was a very old photo of a rather young Iwamoto holding a small articuno. Two cyan feathers were tucked behind its frame, one quite small and one much larger. Both had collected a fair amount of dust.

Finding it to be the only place to sit, Percival parked himself on a small pillow near a short table and drummed his fingers against its surface. He poked at a bowl but it contained only berries and nuts. He stared at a painting on the wall. It seemed very abstract. Even the signature was a mess, although it might begin with the letter “C.” Almost overpowered by a growing urge to give up, Percival was relieved to see a xatu slide open a fragile door and pass through with Iwamoto following behind him.

Crying-Tree stood in a corner while Iwamoto received two glasses of fresh tea from Pablo, one of which he gave to his guest while he too sat at his kotatsu.

“Harmony tells me that you have come with a question troubling you.”

“I do. I have. Whatever, look, I want to know about the Pentachord Badge. A kid on the block I live on just got it—”

“I know; I was the League referee for that contest. What is your question?”

“How the heck is Joe Rainier winning gym challenges against leaders who don't exist without even trying?”

Crying-Tree broke his stolid demeanor and chirped a giggle. Iwamoto barely contained a similar reaction. “He has a powerful pokemon with whom he has forged a powerful bond of mutual respect, concern, and love. Those two factors go a long way, but as a trainer yourself, you surely have come to understand that fact from both study and experience. Asking me that is a waste of your question.”

Percival shifted. “Yeah, sure. Okay, how about this one: they had a fight in his house a little while back with an articuno. There aren't a lot of them around here, but there's a photo of you holding a little one on that wall, and a couple feathers that are the right color. What do you have to do with all this?”

“Almost nothing. The articuno in that photograph is the one who visited your neighbor, and I do have a relationship with her: I trained her as my own for a short time when her owner was occupied with pressing matters. However, she is not my responsibility and I am afraid that her master has spoiled her rotten in many ways. Does knowing this solve your problem?”

“What problem?”

“The problem that motivated you to bicycle across town and bother an old man with many pointless questions instead of one meaningful one.”

Percival almost retorted but felt a presence speaking in his mind. It demanded that he drink his tea. Percival glanced toward Crying-Tree, who was staring at him with his right eye, fully dilated such that it seemed like nothing but a black field on white.

When Percival finished, Sensei spoke. “Please, try to ask only once more, then leave me in tranquility.”

Percival pondered. Who was D.W.? Did that matter? Would he want to challenge the mysterious leader too? Could he defeat him? Was some obscure badge that nobody even remembered worth having? He beat Joe, on a technicality sure, but nonetheless; considering how long this gym “leader” was out of the circuit and that Joe beat him, he might have been a push-over. Heck, the badge might not even count toward eight if the League decided that D.W. was no longer credible. What if he challenged and lost? Would that not be an embarrassment? At least Joe had a badge to prove that Burner was a force to reckon with; Percival had earned nothing at all except small purses and a spot on the League news blotter.

“Mister Iwamoto, I want to know: How can I become a better trainer?”

Sensei sipped from his tea cup. “Did you bring your friends with you?”

* * *

  
“I go to fulfill your orders, my queen,” said “John” in a humble tone.

“Be gone, and speak no word of this to anyone, or We will see you dressed in irons, rotting within the dungeon hold.”

“John” bowed, straightened his clothing, and exited with haste.

Alice made a sound she never before knew she could make. It was a gurgle, a shudder, and a retch somehow fused into one noisy spasm. She went to the break room to change. Mrs. Song entered shortly thereafter.

“Well, Blue Dog, I see you make liar of yourself. No surprise. Give a girl enough time, she will provide member services. Always happens.”

Alice struggled slightly with a button. Her paw-like hands were not quite handy enough sometimes. “We didn't actually do anything.”

“He take extra time, he pay for extra time. Pay premium rate like you did something. Big tip in jar, too.”

“Okay, so I gave him what he wanted and got what I wanted. It was a one-off, and it's over, thanks be Above.”

“You think that. Neh, no surprise. Always happens. Fat man called, wants you to go take care of him. Good oils.”

Alice whined under her breath. She was hoping to ask for the rest of the night off. Returning to the Rainiers' and taking a four hour shower was feeling like a good idea right about then. And, thanks to her little role-play session with Knave John, thinking about soliciting The King to help her get lathered-up would be as redundant as it was enticing. Her sixth sense sparked a reminder, and snapped her back to reality. She gathered the good oils and set off to the wealthier side of town.

* * *

  
Joe loaded up on junk food while Grace browsed a cinema kiosk. She felt a need to pick something really romantic, yet nothing in the category seemed right. A thought crossed her mind; too many of the female leads were attractive humans—not a surprise of course. There was one film in particular that she sought, but she could not place it. “You'll know it when you see it,” she told herself while images of the films' respective posters or media packaging flipped by so quickly it almost made a film of its own. Fortunately there was no queue forming behind her, yet. When Joe approached her with a few sacks in-hand, a couple people were beginning to hover, although it was unclear to Joe if they were admiring the rare sight of a shiny pokemon or just waiting to use the kiosk. “If you can't decide, I'll have to take your turn for you. You know what that means.”

Grace flicked back to the new releases and selected the first film that looked like something none of the boys would choose. She hoped that luck would favor the panicked.

Joe laughed and let his trainer's device and the kiosk communicate to pay out of his account. “That made the decision easy.”

Grace removed a loaded media chip and followed Joe out. “Not really. I couldn't find the one I wanted.”

“Was it something new? Maybe it's not being rented yet.”

Grace put her palms on Joe's shoulders and floated along behind him. “No, it was something I wanted to see again with you.”

“Again? Describe it, maybe I'll remember which it was.”

“I can't really remember; but I'm sure you haven't seen it.”

Joe stopped and turned as she drifted to his side and touched ground again. “If I didn't see it, was it a movie we rented but I skipped out on?”

“No. It was a long time ago.”

“Then, was it something on T.V.? Or, it couldn't have been before we met, could it?”

Grace put an arm around Joe and they began walking forward together. “No, no. I didn't know what a movie or a T.V. was before we met.”

“Then; where, when did you watch it?”

Grace said nothing until they reached the next intersection. The light changed against them as they approached. “I don't know. Maybe I'm imagining things.” Grace wrapped Joe with her arms and concentrated, teleporting them across the intersection. Joe walked free but she remained near to his side. After passing a few properties, Grace rubbed her forehead for a moment. “Today was so annoying. Promise me you won't have that nasty girl inside our house again; I think her emotional wavelengths gave me this headache.”

“I'll promise to do what I can, but the teacher likes keeping the groups the same, so as long as he keeps throwing projects at us…”

Grace groaned during the gap in Joe's side of their discourse.

“…I guess I could go to her house—”

“No!” Grace shouted as she reached out and took one of his hands. “She comes here. I'll take another headache to keep an eye on her.”

“Are you afraid she's going to do something to me?”

“Maybe I am. After what Ivana did, I don't want any girls getting ideas about the guys I love.”

“I don't think she's going to go to any of the extremes that Ivana did.”

“Well, no. She is only human. But she had better not think that's enough to justify walking inside my house and acting like Burner, Alice, and I are the ones out of place there. And most important of all, I don't want you letting her ideas take root inside your head just because you have to get along with her for classwork.”

“Grace, you don't have—” Joe paused as Percival whizzed by on his bicycle, apparently too distracted to voice a greeting, “—to worry about—”

Grace placed her hands on Joe's temples, and in a flash, they covered the remaining distance to his room. The jump was long enough to disorient Grace, but she took that consequence as an excuse to collapse into his arms. “I do have to worry, because I can't be happy if you're not, but your happiness does not guarantee my own. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I think so, Grace, but you could show me.”

Grace began to reach to his temples again, but settled for draping her arms over his shoulders and kissing him. “No, that's a sensation that gardevoir should keep to themselves. Just, don't forget what you mean to me.”

* * *

  
The Chief was not satisfied. “Now how many times do I have to explain this? You might get to visit him next week, or you might never visit him again.”

Alice straightened her cheongsam. “I'm not going to let you manipulate me. When I see my Daddy again is in your hands, yes, and that's one of the reasons why I won't betray myself. You know exactly what I'm willing to do to see him. If that's not enough, then I don't see him and you get nothing.”

The Chief squinted and turned red in the face; almost as intensely colored as the amber eyes that he stared into and that stared right back, square and unflinchingly. He spent many years performing interrogations. He knew the look of a man who was not going to back down for anything. “Fine, have it your way.”

“Twenty minutes. Full.”

He turned redder, “Ten.” She had not broken her stare. “Maybe fifteen if you impress me.”

“Fifteen, twenty if I impress you.”

“Get to work.”

Alice turned toward her bag and began sifting around for appropriate accessories.

“For a bitch who wants to claim the moral high-ground, you're sure willing to do a lot of dirty old things with dirty old men.”

“Two dirty things, and only with you because Daddy is worth it.”

“So, you're thinking of your daddy when you do this?”

A second later, the Chief's face turned red again, as he gasped and groaned in pain.

Alice snarled a little near his ear. “You may hold the key to the visitation room door, but at this precise moment, I'm the one who's got you by the balls. Don't forget that.”

The Chief's eyes uncrossed shortly after she let go.

“Besides, I'm industrious. I get to use you to test and improve my technique; good news for my mate.”

His voice also needed a moment to recover fully. “Oh yeah? What does he think about your job, and what you're about to do?”

“He thinks I shouldn't be doing this, and I agree with him.”

The Chief's voice lost its usual mocking tone. “He's smart.”

Alice discarded a wrapper. “He's bright and dim; gentle and savage; courageous and cowardly. Typical Fire-type.”

As Alice finally got to work as ordered, the Chief could not help but ask. “Is it true what else they say about Fire-types?”

Alice moved to lean-in close to his face again. “I can't speak for all of them, but it's true for mine. Don't worry, you're adequate for me to practice on.”

The Chief huffed.

Alice looked back and waited a moment. “Well, you were.”

* * *

  
“Maybe you should marry her,” Grace muttered mockingly. This was all Marianne's fault. Grace watched a timer count down as a tray of cookies undulated at 190 degrees centigrade. The front door opened; Mr. Rainier carried his new Mrs. Rainier over the threshold. Scarlet laughed as they entered. Grace hated her laugh. Grace entered the living room as Joe stalled.

The bride's giggles abated for a comment. “No way, don't wuss out on me; you put me down on our bed! Hey Grace, still making hairy cookies?”

Together they went around the wall and toward what once was James' room. The door shut behind them. Grace could still hear her laughing.

Ding.

Grace opened the oven door and levitated the tray onto the counter-top. She fetched a spatula from a drawer and looked into a reflection in its metal blade. “This is all Marianne's fault.” The hair above the face in the reflection was green, but that did not seem odd for some reason. What did was the flash of blue that streaked across when she turned it to use it. Grace jumped and turned around. An eerily familiar gardevoir stood close beside her. She raised her hand somewhat defensively.

The other gardevoir spoke. “Are we happy?”

“You're, that… who are you, really, and what are you doing in my mind?”

“Are you not seeing this vision?” The other gardevoir seized Grace by her wrist and pulled her through the house. “You have known Joe Rainier for six years, Scarlet Rainier nee Foley has known him for five.” Together they passed through a bedroom door as though it were not there. “He is now consummating his marriage to the latter. Are we happy?”

Grace's eyes grew wide before she covered them and turned away and whimpered, “No… no.”

Scarlet began laughing again as Joe exhaustedly collapsed upon her. Grace's eyes watered and she bolted for the door, but reaching for its knob, she passed through again and stumbled.

She stumbled up a slight incline. Tears blurred her vision, but there was not much to see. All was darkness except a dull floor around her illuminated by an array of lights hovering above. She turned around and faced a tall wall with a groove in it. A voice called out from the surrounding darkness, “Come along, this way.”

When Grace reached that voice's source, the other gardevoir came into view beneath those ever-following lights. She lay flat on a metal table, her hands behind her head. The pose seemed uncomfortable, since the table made no accommodation for the antenna that protruded from a somewhat fused portion of her spinal column.

“Glad you could make it. You have known Joe Rainier for twenty years—”

“Why are we here?”

“Consequences.”

“And, where is here, anyway?”

“Home. At least for a little while longer. Be forgiving, we didn't learn how to do this until it was too late.”

The light and all it shined upon became red.

“I'll skip ahead, now.”

The array of lights changed back to white. A loud P.A. voice boomed from speakers mounted near those bulbs. “And that ends the match. Tanya Rainier has been eliminated from tonight's competition.”

A teenager with her mother's hair and Marianne's vocabulary cursed wildly at her opponent until Grace stood up and walked out of the circle. “Well, that does it.” Grace knew that the girl had more to say but refrained.

Grace followed Tanya in silence as the latter left the gym in favor of a pokecenter. There she moved immediately toward a number of computer terminals. Grace watched her as she scanned her trainer's device and quickly surfed through a few menus. She accessed the trading service, and found a number of offers for a shiny female gardevoir. One seemed like just what she needed to get her team into competitive shape. Grace felt a sense of panic when she realized what she was seeing, but Tanya took her by her hands before she could say anything.

“Grace, thank you. You were a wonderful starter, but I want to have a shot at a title, and that means I have to move on. I'm sure your new home will be fine.”

“Wait,” anguish crawled across Grace's face, “what about Joe, what about my family?”

“Uh, I know you took a hard hit in there, but… okay, Dad gave you to me when I was seven, and if you had a family before that, nobody told me. Are you feeling alright?”

“No, God, no.”

“Okay, I'll have them give you a full restoration before the trade so you'll be completely refreshed and clear-headed when you meet your new master.”

Grace intended to protest, but Tanya quickly raised a scuffed and scarred dive ball, clicked its button, and filled Grace's vision with bright red light before darkness.

A groan burst from her as Grace felt a sharp pain in the middle of her spine. An array of lights shined down from above. She heard a voice ask once again, “Are we happy?”

Tears again began to flow from the blue gardevoir's eyes. “I'm not.”

The lights were eclipsed by a green gardevoir's head as it crept into view above her. “Good. Take that feeling to heart. I don't want to show you what happens next.”

Grace rose and wiped her face. “Am I seeing the future? Can I do that, like the pokedex says?”

“You haven't developed that talent. Many of us never do to any useful extent. Don't worry about that; worry about preventing this—what I've foreseen—from happening, for both our sake.”

“Okay, but, how?”

“Make different choices.”

“How will I know which ones are the different ones? I mean, if you showed me what is going to happen, then—”

“I showed you what was going to happen when you didn't know what was going to happen. You know, now. Do something about it.” The other gardevoir came near. “Don't repeat her mistakes.”

The other gardevoir walked away and the lights followed her. Then Grace, too, followed, over a railing and up to a tall wall with a groove in it. A pair of doors slid open for the green creature. Beyond them, in a ring-shaped room filled with equipment, Grace saw the other gardevoir grasp a couple of handles mounted from the ceiling. “You know, I would like to try this when you're awake sometime, but he never gives you the opportunity. At least it was a good way to harass Tanya. Will be, maybe, but I hope not.” The green gardevoir kicked a control panel. Everything became red. Grace opened her eyes. The color faded except for a number of rounded red forms floating above her. Above them, a pair of glowing red and amber eyes opened. They seemed surprised at first, but quickly shifted to an expression of disappointment.

“So much for the salad bar.” Marianne exited through the ceiling.

Joe, a freshman high school student and not a married young man, shifted beside Grace and muttered something indistinct. Grace kissed him gently.

“This is all Marianne's fault.”

* * *

  



	18. Dismissals

 

* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 18: Dismissals.

* * *

  
“Alright, you got him off-balance; now, give him your aqua-tail!”

Rapidly, a thick layer of water coated Fiona's vibrant patterns as she coiled her body like a spring and maneuvered to attack Komo. Komo was halfway kneeling and breathing heavily, but he was not afraid of being washed away. When the fish swung down upon him, he clasped the root of her fan, adjusted his grip, and brought her around. Centrifugal forces straightened her body over two rotations before he released her as though he were competing in a hammer throw event.

Percival called out to her when she stopped rolling, but if she heard him she ignored him as her response was to slither away toward the park's pond. Roscoe tossed Komo a towel with which to dry off as he returned to Solymar's side.

“No, you're next,” said Roscoe aloud, interrupting Grace's internal deliberation of whether or not she should follow Fiona. It had been a long time since she sparred with Roscoe, and she wondered if his intention was to give her a lesson or a lesion.

Grace's fabric dress flapped in the wind as a spontaneous gust served as a go-signal. She felt Roscoe teasing her mental defenses with gentle probing. Oddly, he soon seemed distracted. When he stopped paying attention to her strategy, Grace seized the moment and led with a shadow-sneak at his side. Crossing the same bridge, she sensed his intended reaction and electrically charged her arm, swiping the air between them as he brought his own arm forward. The tip of her arm's middle digit stroking a spoon's bowl, air crackled as her thunder-wave arced across.

Roscoe's head was obviously not in the game, but he was not communicating with her either. He backed away and cast calm-mind upon himself. Grace maintained her assault with a marginally-effective psychic and considered her options. More specifically, her opportunity. Nothing was riding on this match and as he cast another calm-mind, he was giving her a perfect chance to test out a strange strategy that a green bird once suggested. Another psychic attack she launched; another calm-mind he cast. Grace waved her hands in the air in a way that Joe had never seen before, and briefly a glowing aura formed around both herself and Roscoe. His soon faded, but levitating clear of the grass, hers began brightening. He seemed ignorant of the effect at first, but when she quickly glided toward him he winced and crossed his face with both of his arms. Grace stopped just short of his position, freezing in the air. The aura continued forth and struck Roscoe with enough force to cast his spoons from the circle.

It was a powerful blow and seeing Roscoe relieved of his aides, Grace felt like defeating him with an encore. The glow built again while he got up and she approached a second time once he was standing again. This time, the glow was what stopped in-place while her body continued; Roscoe cast torment upon her and nullified her intended plan of attack. Without time to realize that, she yelped a grunt as he clotheslined her with his right bracer just above her ventral node and struck her with a shadow-ball point-blank as she rotated about her still-gliding center of mass.

Grace came to rest near one of Roscoe's spoons. The alakazam recovered them via telekinesis.

Joe recalled Grace into her dive ball and walked toward his bicycle until Solymar, seated on the bench, taunted him.

“Hey,” she chided, “we don't make a trip to the center for one fainted pokemon. Snap a revive or wait till it's break time.”

Joe gave her an indignant glance. “Third rule of Pokemon League journeying: I'm out of usable pokemon, I have to go back to the last center I visited.”

Solymar appreciated his retort. “Making it official then; you are a journeying trainer, now.”

“Whatever. I'm taking Grace in.”

“You're such a weenie. Can't bear seeing your girlfriend with a bruise. I hope Nurse Joy has a line; you can hold hands and cry about losing while you wait.” Solymar did not appreciate how he ignored her parting shot. She turned about with a huff and caught a face full of fluff. “Dios mi—get away from me, you furry freak!” She shoved a linoone away but its spine contorted accommodatingly and its smile drew wide and toothy.

Terrance pinched his pokemon on the tip of its tail. “Petunia, what did I tell you about earrings?”

His linoone's ears fell flat and it growled.

“I'm locking your treasure chest for the night.”

Petunia snarled.

“Do you want it locked for three nights, instead?”

Petunia whimpered.

“I didn't think so. Come over here.” Terrance reached across Petunia's body and pulled it up beside himself.

With an exasperated “Why,” Solymar asked, “did you get one of those? They're poor fighters and most of the things they bring home are pieces of garbage.”

Petunia whimpered again, ears still flat.

“Because the police department started a new program for pokemon trained by crooks to do their dirty work. Petunia here's stolen enough jewelry in the last three years to open a shop in Tartaroyal, but she didn't know any better. Instead of leaving badly trained pokemon in stasis while their owners do time, which means they'll go right back to it when they're out, or turning them loose in the wild where they don't get along well, they're offering them to trainers who are willing to help straighten them out. They cut a deal with the League, so I'm getting credit and credits for my trouble, and maybe what will prove to be a nice companion,” he lifted Petunia's chin, “if this thieving little monster stops fixating on anything that shines in the sunlight.”

Solymar prepared a slight but was startled by Percival shouting ahead.

“Break it up! You know you'd get carded for that, Komo.”

Komo released Sam from an ineffective choke-hold. Komo had never thought such a tactic would be necessary against Sam, and failed to consider that a creature having leaves with which to breathe might not black out within times specified by applicable League regulations. Their fight resumed and Solymar scoffed as Komo fell to a combination of solar-beam and acrobatics. Sam offered a hand to pull Komo up, but it was swatted away by Solymar as she sat on Komo's chest.

“Komo, Komo, Komo,” she freshened her lipstick, “you probably didn't overhear, but Terrance said the cops are paying trainers to take-in the big tough pokemon they confiscate from criminals. If you aren't willing to make an effort to keep up with a Grass-type, I might have to get one of those. I know! You can be his valet.” She turned around and turned Komo's head to one side, kissed him on his cheek, and left an impression.

* * *

  
As Joe walked into Rennin Pokecenter, familiar feathers emerged from the medical wing. “Hey, big guy, I wondered where you were.”

“Alice came by early. She wanted us to have breakfast.”

“By ‘us’ you mean ‘you,’ since Grace and I finished a box of stale cereal for breakfast.”

Burner's voice fell to half volume. “She wanted us to talk about some things.”

“Things your master doesn't get to know about?” Joe poked Burner's belly.

The chicken looked almost ashamed. “We wanted to make a decision first.”

“Well, let me know when you figure it out. I'm going to get Grace taken care of.” Joe approached the counter and Burner followed him.

“I got my medical clearance renewed today.”

Joe watched Grace's ball settle into a hopper before Joy pushed a button. “Oh, yeah. I saw the reminder but forgot.”

“The project?”

“The project. Scarlet's coming over tomorrow so we can finish it up. I wanted my half to be better than hers, but everything I put together comes out cruddy.”

“I thought what you had two nights ago looked good.”

“And it fell apart when I touched it the next day. It's like the glue ate the foam. Toothpicks aren't working, either. Scarlet's going to laugh at me and blame me for anything short of an A+.” Joe received Grace's ball. He looked for an empty place to release her, but felt Burner's warm hand grip his wrist.

“Before you let Grace out, please, come with me to Alice's house. You're right; we should have been… forthcoming.”

“Okay, but why do you want me to keep Grace in her ball?”

“After synchronizing with you, she'll know what we talk about, but if she's there during it, it will make Alice uncomfortable because she can't protect all of her thoughts from Grace.”

Joe walked with Burner out of the pokecenter. “That's strange. They seemed to get along just fine together.”

“Alice is good at making things seem okay, but she's always hiding something. Anything that might be painful, she hides; hides it from us, hides it from herself. But, that doesn't hide her or us from it.”

“That's—a good way to put it. I should've had you help me when I had that poetry paper to write.”

Burner had no trouble keeping up with Joe on his bicycle. “I had a lot of time this morning to think about how to say that the right way.”

* * *

  
“Deal cards for it?” Terrance suggested as he scratched behind Petunia's ear.

“I'm calling it a day,” advised Solymar. “It's getting hot and I've got plans in a few hours, anyway.”

Percival overheard despite being busy scolding Frankie for eating all of the jerky without asking. “I'd like to train more, but if nobody's staying I guess we're done too.”

Sam broke from a conversation with Roscoe and addressed Percival. “I will meet you at home, Master. There is something bothering me that I'm going to look into.”

After a brief and impotent complaint about Sam's self-direction, Percival shouted Fiona's name and and order for her to return. As she slithered into view, Percival remarked again to Sam. “Okay, you can go run around town. I'm allowing this as a favor to you.”

Fiona vanished into her ball, then Frankie into his own.

Sam placed his scaled claws on Percival's shoulders. “Tell me, when did you stop trusting me?”

“About four seconds after I got off the ground and realized that if you'd hit me any harder, you could've broken my jaw.”

Sam tightened his grip very slightly. “You hurt me first, Master. Deeply. But, although I gave you a taste of my frustration, you have never lost my trust: I know that what you do is what you think is for the best. I am sorry yours in me was so fragile.”

Percival glanced around to ensure no one was within earshot. “You think I should trust you after you all but guillotined me in my own bed?”

“Yes.”

Nonplussed, Percival's face formed a mixed expression before asking, “Are you crazy?”

Sam grinned with a faint hiss. “I must be: I choose you to be my best friend. I will be home for supper.”

Percival maintained his position on the concrete bench till Sam was out of sight. That was not very long, as Sam's speed was quite striking.

* * *

  
Joe was impressed by Alice's industry, although for want of chairs they settled into discussion seated on the floor inside one of the empty but renovated top storey rooms.

Alice took a slow sip of her sun tea. “We wanted to be sure that this is a step we're ready to take before we involved you in it.”

Joe kept a cool demeanor, although he was a little embarrassed. “Well, it really doesn't have anything to do with me, what you do together on your own.”

“It does,” Alice asserted somewhat uncharacteristically, “because no matter our precautions, there is always a chance, and since you are B's owner and master, the legal responsibility falls to you.”

“Mine alone? Burner is mine but you aren't.”

“I don't know much about the details other than that the laws were written for breeders' benefit, but Daddy can't acquire pokemon while incarcerated, so if an egg happened, it would legally be your property; to keep, trade, or…”

Burner added, “Master James… cautioned me about this, and I don't disrespect him. I'm not looking for an excuse. But we are confident in ourselves and our future together, and we want to know we have plans for… contingencies we may be responsible for, if something accidental happens.”

Joe nodded. “You, worrying about accidents before they happen? She's rubbing off on you, Burner.”

Alice choked on her tea and muttered, “Other way around,” before saying more clearly, “Oh, nothing,” when Joe asked for clarification of what she said.

* * *

  
Sam lied through his teeth. “He didn't give me his I.D.; he needs it for himself.”

Mona realized that that made sense. “I can't let anybody check out media without a valid University I.D. card. And, also, you're a pokemon.” She inflected that sentence with the stereotypical flair of a ditz believing herself to be ahead of her company.

If Sam were insulted by her brilliant deduction, he did not let it show in the slightest. “May I just look around? The information my master needs I can remember. I don't need to take anything out.” Sam gave her the sad eyes. He feared it would not work given his finalized phenotype. He was almost justified, but a faint whimper made up the difference.

“Okay, five minutes, and no Grass-type tricks like leaving stun-spores in the book bindings.”

Ten minutes later, the palm of an administrator landed on Sam's shoulder. Well, when his shoulder stopped moving. Sam was flipping pages of atlases and corners of maps as though frenzied. “I don't think you belong here, Son.”

“I don't understand these maps.”

“I'm sure your trainer can teach you how to read a map if that's important to you. Have you asked how?”

Sam glanced at the administrator. “I can read. I hatched positive. I'm more literate than he is.”

A forced cough served as an interjection. “Many pokemon are happy enough serving their trainers' needs, without care for surpassing their abilities in matters of human concern.”

Sam strafed to his left and opened another atlas to a page that he previously marked with a half of a leaf. “I was happy to do both.”

“What matters right now is that he is not here with you. This is against policy. It is time for you to leave.”

Sam's stance slackened. “Then I must find a better library.”

The administrator took that comment personally. “You won't have any luck. Despite Scoparin's admission fees, Rennin has the greatest library in the region.”

Sam pointed at the marked atlas. “Then why do your maps disagree with each other?”

The administrator ran a couple fingers through his beard. “Pray tell.”

“I have a book. Its title page ends with: ‘New York 1961.’ I found ‘New York,’ a medium metropolitan on the other side of the planet. All these maps have it the same way, except these three.” Sam flipped open a couple atlases, and slid over the one marked with a leaf. “This one is the same as the others, but much older. The city isn't as large, that makes sense, but a few things are named differently, especially things involving the water. This one: all of the names are like the new maps, yet where the names are wrong on that one the land shapes are a little different here. Then, this one's the oldest. It has today's names, but it's only an approximate match. If I put them in order of age,” Sam arranged the maps, “it's like the middle one transformed into the later ones to be more like this oldest one.”

The administrator stood dumbfounded until Sam looked up at him, at which he began speaking as though anxious and fully prepared. “Names change, these old maps have lots of errors, and they aren't supposed to be out here on the shelves because they could mislead students. We only store them as relics. They must have escaped the archives by accident. I'll take care of them, and trust that you can see yourself out.” He began gathering the material somewhat carefully, plucking away Sam's broken leaf as though it were a slimy worm.

“Yes. I will find my answers elsewhere.”

* * *

  
Joe released Grace onto his bed. She landed in much the same pose as she had on the park grass, and faintly waived him over with a loose waggle of her right arm after raising it over her head. Once he neared, she rolled a little, letting her ventral horn compress a bed spring. Raising her left arm to match her right she captured his head above her own and synchronized for a moment. When she released him, her palms fell flat across her shoulders.

“It's not fair,” she grumbled into Joe's pillow.

“I'm sure you can visit any time you like, and she did send a bottle of tea with me just for you. I'll go get it.” Joe left for his bag, which he had hurriedly cast off onto the love-seat when he got home.

With a levitation assist, Grace flipped over and slid up the bed a little way. “That's not what I meant,” she muttered to herself.

“Garde' girl's getting horny again, isn't she?” Marianne asked as she descended upside down, trailing one tendril as though she were a spider dangling from a thread. “It's been quite a while since you last had him molest your ear-rogenous zones. Should I applaud your chastity?”

“What are you implying, Ghost?”

Joe re-entered carrying a plastic bottle re-filled. “Here, it's good stuff.”

Marianne continued. “That today your eyes are green for poetic reasons.”

After handing over the bottle, Joe turned to his right. “Marianne, we haven't felt your presence in a little while. Is that ghost bed thing working out?”

Marianne turned aside and coiled her tendrils. “It's okay. Not as good as sharing a dream with somebody you care about, tearing that dream to pieces, and sucking the vital energies out of their heads through the fissures, but it's okay.” She drifted sideways eastward as she spoke. “I guess only blue pokemon get bed-sharing privileges around here. Purple gets a wad of silver-plated steel wool and insulation tumble-weeds.” She swiped a tendril through the plastic bottle and evaluated the flavor of its contents. “Too much sun, not enough tea. I'm going to Baldy's; centre bounce in twenty minutes.”

As Marianne's haze faded against the wall she left through, Joe took another look at his part of the project. An entire orbital fell off again.

In Grace's opinion, Alice's tea was properly sunny. “If I came to school with you, I could hold that thing together during the judging. And make the little balls spin around without any of those wires.”

Joe tried sticking the orbital on again. Gravity pulled it away again. “Your project has to be about both pokemon ability and one of the approved science topics to get permission to have an unlocked pokeball at school.”

“So, if you'd picked, say, how those magnet levitation trains worked, you could've compared it to how gardevoir levitation gardevoirs worked, and I could've been your project partner instead of Scarlet?”

The orbital fell and took an electron with it. “Maybe we can do that next year, but I don't think Mr. Plovo would have made it that easy to disrupt his assigned groups if we had tried.”

Grace finished her drink. “It would've been worth a shot.” Noticing a shadow in the window, Grace opened it telekinetically. “Hey, Fiona. How's the water?”

The milotic peeked inside. “Wonderful. Much cleaner than the park pond.”

Joe commented while cursing his styrene foam nodule, “Enjoy it while it lasts. When the weather starts to turn, we'll have to close the pool for winter.”

“Your speech has improved,” complimented Grace.

Fiona slid further in. “Frankie said after I had it done to me I should get used to doing it. Then Sam made me read things. Talking like this is not comfortable.”

“It takes getting used to, but I know it made living with humans easier for me,” Grace projected, “even if their language is less precise than ours.”

Fiona slithered in further more, entertaining a curiosity in Joe's project display. “I did not talk much before. My river was not… social.”

“Do you miss it?” Grace asked her, “It must've been a simple life.”

Fiona grasped a runaway ball with a fin and gave it to Joe. “I did before I could think about it. Now, if I went back, I would miss pancakes.”

“I've got more than pancakes keeping me here,” Grace admitted with a giggle. “I hope you can find more, too.”

Fiona withdrew. “His mother makes waffles.”

Insulted by his project one time more than his patience could abide, Joe slandered his display board, punched his mattress, and turned on his video game system.

Grace ignored her sore spot as she contorted to reverse her alignment on the bed, draping her arms over Joe's shoulders and pressing one of her gills against his temple. Her conscious mind wanted to talk with him about his getting mad at a prop, but her instincts knew better. It was her power to soothe his frustrations wordlessly, silently, directly. As his closest friend, it was her opportunity. As his loyal pokemon, it was her duty. As his faithful lover should be, it was her raison d'etre. Hours passed and day became night while she watched him play with her eyes closed and mind open; a co-operative player that could assist him without interfering, advise him without distracting, and augment the game's highs and lows to maximize his enjoyment of the experience. James checked in on them a couple times, but did not interrupt. Grace smiled faintly the second time he peeked inside the room, for she sensed in him not irritation that Joe was playing games instead of working on his project, but rather that he assumed rightfully that she was effecting the recreation and emotional support he needed at that time.

* * *

  
“Is it drugged?” Carlos seemed a little out of sorts already.

“Of course, mon! Less work for the ushers once you're through.” By-The-Sea's bartender advanced a shot glass.

Carlos downed it. “I hope I'm through. I just want to go home, spring my dogs, and not have to do this courier shit ever again.”

“Take it easy, mon. You got a soft gig. You go where they say, you do not open the briefcases, and you have another drink.”

Carlos received a second shot.

“And next thing you remember…”

Carlos passed out.

“…it's like you were never ever here.”

A well-dressed man approached from out-of-sight nearby and grappled Carlos.

The bartender turned off the lights, although a little ambient light reflected off of his jewelry. “When I got a call from the buoy I knew something was up. What's it take to get Mista' Syfax to come and visit the proximate islands?”

Maximilian balanced Carlos over his right shoulder, somewhat precariously since their statures were not well-matched. “A combination of Simian's desires, a sturdy vessel, and the ability to treat the Keymaster to a vacation that includes being pampered like despotic royalty.”

“I wouldn't mind something like that for myself.”

“You have to go back a long way with Well to get into that position, and have the sort of power that he wants to borrow.”

Maximilian followed a prepared trail of shadows to the docks, where The Sphinx, fueled up and ready to launch, awaited.

* * *

  


* * *

* * *

  
“You'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Sugar.” Delilah leaned back in her chair and glanced into the living room. Li'l Sis was changing channels to stations inappropriate for her age, and Frankie was changing them back with a flicker of his beacon. “I know your kind can get awful protective, but from what you've told me he doesn't even like this girl. She'll be a memory in three years, so why are you frettin'?”

“Because I know she won't be a memory. She'll be his fiancee.” Grace's face expressed no emotion, but Delilah felt a sensation wash over her.

“What's got you thinking that?”

“You know how some gardevoir can see the future?”

“I know one of my girlfriends had a kirlia that saved her life two times and there was no way knowin' the trouble was coming without knowin', you know.” Both drank from their respective mugs in unison. “I oughta' get in touch with her again. It's been a few years since she moved to the big city. I don't even know if she got him done up as a gardevoir or a gallade. Which do you like better for your boys?”

Grace blushed faintly. “I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. I haven't spent any time with my own kind except my mother and moments in passing at the gym.”

“Don't tell my hubby this, but that new fashion trend where the gallades get their kilts tattooed up all fancy, they're calling it ‘The Highlander Look,’ oh, there's something about it. If I wasn't married I don't know if I could help crossing the line for a try at that.”

Grace's gills twitched. “The line?”

“Yeah, the one between humans and pokemon.” Delilah studied Grace's body language very carefully. “Did you bond with that young man because you love him, or do you love him because you bonded with him?”

Grace needed a re-fill. “I bonded with him because my mother told me I should if I felt inside him that I could trust him and if I felt inside me that I could trust him.”

“And?”

The gardevoir closed her eyes for a little while. “I love him because when we came together, he gave me what I needed to survive, and I gave him the responsibility he needed to see himself as somebody who matters to somebody else.”

Delilah's expression soured. “The way you put that says something about his relationship with his father.”

“What? No, but, yeah. Joe felt like he wasn't living up to Dad's expectations and didn't have any way to; Dad felt the same but that Joe wasn't trying to.” Grace almost laughed. “When my mother put me in Joe's bedroom, it forced them to start working that out.”

“I guess that's a good thing. Are you still in Joe's bedroom?”

Grace's gills flushed fully. “Dad made me sleep on the other side of the house for a while, but after I mastered teleport, there wasn't much he could do about it.”

“Speaking as a parent, I want you to understand that he's surely got good reasons for his rules. You being a Psychic-type means you can get around them in creative ways, but that don't make it right.”

Swirling the fluid in her mug, Grace watched reflections of light dance about. “I follow the rules, even when I know I should break them. Like, to find out why…” Grace slumped slightly in her seat. “But that I was teleporting at night was a secret anyway. I think; I never tried to check if he knew or not at that time, but when I evolved he suggested I sleep beside him.”

Delilah's eyes went wide as a Jynx's. “Really!”

“I evolved after Marianne and I had a fight. You remember; it was winter. She made the pool our arena, so I got very cold.”

“Very cold? Dearie, getting wet in that weather, you could've died. Your species doesn't have a lot of insulation.”

Grace nodded. “It was strange, though; I never worried about that. Anyway, about the bed thing, he said it was to treat hypothermia, but he never said anything about me sleeping beside him again, so maybe he knew I was teleporting in and out of there anyway and it was a way let the whole thing go without admitting defeat.”

“James can sure be both proud and stubborn, but if you're askin' me, I think he wanted you in there.”

“Why?” Grace asked with her head tilted at an angle.

“Now I'm just speculatin', but I think he wanted to give Joe the choice. Puttin' you across the house made sure Joe knew what it was like to keep you sleepin' separate, and then when you evolved James let him learn what it'd be like to let you sleep together, torso horns and all. After that, he just stayed out of it.”

A wail came through from the living room and Delilah left to investigate. Sam passed through too, knowing his role. Grace washed out her emptied mug while the Finnegans dealt with their situation. Apparently Li'l Sis was upset because Frankie took the remote away and started giving her little static shocks when she tried stealing it back. That was his typical method of disciplining her, but Li'l Sis was in that testy phase of development that pushes matters as far as possible and then bawls about not getting its way in an attempt to get its way. Grace let her perceptions expand and they focused on something speeding by on a bicycle. Quickly up-turning the mug and placing it on a drying rack, Grace scribbled “Thank you! — G” on a sticky note, affixed it beside Delilah's mug, and teleported to her own front door so she could open it wide just before it was knocked on by—

“Scarlet! How nice it is to see you again!”

Grace's sarcasm was so powerfully implied that it knocked Marianne out of bed.

Miss Foley recoiled with surprise, almost dropping a small box she carried, but quickly put on her game face. “Take me to your leader, you gray-skinned, big-headed, bug-eyed alien.”

“Right this way.” Grace led Scarlet forth, levitating the whole way to Joe's door. “If you need me for any reason at all, just close your eyes and think of me.” Grace leaned in close as Scarlet passed into the room—causing her to lean to her side and bump against the door frame—and whispered into her ear, “I won't probe you, but I will be listening very closely.”

Scarlet slipped through. “Joe, please recall your pokemon.”

Joe did not look up to her. “No.”

Scarlet glanced around his room. “Is that supposed to be an atom?”

“It was, but it keeps becoming an ion.” He still looked only at his model.

Miss Foley noticed his ball clip. “The ions are my part of the project, and they look gorgeous if I do say so myself.” She sat her box before him. “Take a look at how a woman creates the fundamental building blocks of matter, just like in the very beginning.” Seeing Joe distracted, Scarlet removed from the clip the ball it held, depressed its button, and tossed it sideways through the doorway; a terrible throw that went where she intended more by chance than by technique. A red flash of its scanning beam reflected off of the interior walls, making Scarlet smile.

Joe could not deny that her craftsmanship was exemplary, and admitted such as she sat on the floor to his left and reached across him, pointing at the right side of their display. “I think it should go right there, don't you?”

“Uh, yeah. That's kinda where we decided it would go.”

“Alright, let's put our parts together and see what happens.”

Joe pursed his lips for a moment. “Okay.”

As they assembled the rest of their display, Joe noticed a marked change in Scarlet's behavior. It was like her first day in class again. Her voice was more gentle, almost musical. Gone was the combativeness, and no doubt partly due to her proximity, being near her felt warmer. It seemed almost a shame when the display was completed, the model part anyway, since it brought end to a moment that felt like it should continue. A slight extension was granted as she repaired his atom's orbital. It stuck in place as though it actually belonged, and did not even droop when she took her hand away from it.

“There. I think maybe we make a grade-A team together, after all; you and I.” She smiled at him coyly and took his hand.

He stared a little—she had a cute nose.

Soon after thinking about that, he heard a single hollow and plasticky clink sound. The silence before continued for a fifth of a second, just enough time to wonder what that noise was.

“Ow!” Scarlet shouted too near to Joe's ear for comfort as she half-fell against him. A pokeball bounced dully on the carpet and rolled to rest nearby.

“That was Burner's ball, you idiot.” Grace hovered in the doorway, her partially-regrown skirt splayed in the air, letting her cloth garment hang like curtains from its fringe. Everything green about her seemed to be a bit brighter than the ambient lighting alone could allow. Never before had Joe seen her holding her arms out at diagonal angles inside the house; only in a combat circle.

“What the hell? Grace!” Joe stood quickly but carefully as Scarlet shifted onto her own sense of balance again.

“We need to talk, Joe.”

Joe noticed something seemed different about Grace's voice, but assumed it was an affect of some sort. “Grace, what is wrong with you? Apologize to Scarlet.”

“She seems to think she's a big girl. She can handle her own consequences.”

“Please, Grace; apologize.” The pokemon's eyes narrowed; Scarlet felt transfixed, gazing into them through a fearful expression. “Grace! I… I… I'm your master and I order you: Apologize to Scarlet!”

Something happened. Grace's face shifted twice in a single moment, first to a contortion suggesting utter horror as her feet fell to the floor, then a serene and neutral calm as she lifted away again. Then, the hovering gardevoir broke a faint smile. Looking about the room with a curious glance that ended by staring into Joe's eyes with a dreadful intensity, it warned him, “You just broke her heart,” and without any interest in what his reaction to those words might be, teleported away.

After the flash of her teleport faded, Scarlet's and Joe's visions returned to normal, and set before a backdrop of a shadowy hallway floated Marianne. Her necklace was so dark that its jewels looked more like lumps of dried blood than glittering corundum. She slowly drifted inside Joe's room. Once she drew near, with the same slowness she lowered herself, draping her tendrils upon Scarlet's shoulder, whipping one across to her right side, preventing the girl from leaning away.

Marianne spoke with a voice so calm, paced, and steady that it seemed almost otherworldly, even by standards to which a ghost could be held. Except for timbre, it sounded like anyone but herself. “Scarlet, you did a very mean thing by trying to recall Grace into a pokeball.”

Scarlet stuttered slightly, but whether or not that was because she feared having a Ghost-type on her shoulder or because of the bone-chilling cold it made her feel was unclear. “T-that's where pokemon b-belong.”

“Sometimes, for some pokemon. Always, for others. Rarely, when ever, for a few very nice pokemon; the really good ones.”

Scarlet struggled to face away from both Marianne and Joe, but without spinning her head around completely, there was little angle for escape.

“I haven't been in my ball since—well, other than a jolt at the pokecenter after Grace and I had it out—since my Harvey was on the League's active list. I guess that puts me in the good pokemon column.”

Nobody responded to her baited statement.

“Okay, I'll let Santa Claus be the judge of that. But, sometimes a fat man in crimson velour isn't around to help you judge character. Scarlet Foley, we talked once before so we're not complete strangers. Do you trust me?”

Scarlet turned her head and asked, “What?” into the tendrils that then rested across her lips. Her breath puffed from them a short-lived cloud of haze.

“I asked you: do you trust me?”

Scarlet turned to face forward, and then to face Joe. Joe looked into her eyes for a moment, then he lifted his chin and looked into Marianne's. Their ætherial red and amber glow seemed soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the first time he gazed into them just before hearing her shriek, “Ghost eyes are beautiful, asshole!” and abduct Grace.

Marianne blinked slowly while he gazed.

Joe looked back to Scarlet. “I trust her, and I think you should, too.”

Scarlet shivered and cringed a little. “I… trust you.”

Marianne elevated. “Joe, now that everything is glued together, you can handle the labels and finishing touches yourself, right?”

“Yeah,” Joe confirmed.

“Very well, then. Scarlet needs to go home, finish any homework still to-do, and go to bed early. You're old enough that your parents don't check on you before they go to bed, right?”

Scarlet spoke in a normal tone. “No, of course not. Whose parents do that after you're like, seven?”

“And there are no pokemon at your house at all?”

“No.”

Marianne cleared the pathway to the door. “Gooooooood.” Her mouth contorted into a cliche-for-her-species angular ripple while Scarlet stood and exited. When the front door opened and closed, Marianne turned to face a still-seated Joe. Her voice reverted somewhat. “The ones who feel like they need to watch-over just a little bit extra, by the way. You're taking that from a ghost, mind you; we're professional watcher-overers.” She passed into the attic but returned when she heard him speak her name and let him respond.

“Grace has showed me the time you told her your story, before you had that fight and Grace evolved. You said you hadn't been in your ball for years before Harvey died, and since then, only after you came here. If he let you always be out, and you're a professional watcher-overer, doesn't that mean—”

Marianne's crystals mustered a faint glow. Her voice compensated with extra volume. “That instead of haunting him like a good ghost is supposed to, I was at home sulking like a spoiled baby, making sure that when I told him I didn't want to see him again until he came back with my dusk stone I wasn't immediately proven a liar. Yes, that's what that means. That means when he was fifteen minutes late, I was annoyed. When he was an hour late, I was pissed. When he was three hours late, I was ready to wring his neck for getting a motel room or bribing a nurse to let him camp in a destitute trainer hostel just to win our argument. When he was five hours late, I left to find him and I was ready to pull his fucking bones out of his body. I went to the center first, of course, and he hadn't been there. Nobody had placed a vault claim in two days since it was the off-season. Then I heard some girls come in all drunk flush in their stupid faces, talking about how lucky it was they both turned down some prick who was hitting on them and trying to get them to go for a ride since soon after that he took himself out when he ploughed his sporty number into a lamp-post and mowed down some old guy along the way. That's exactly what it means. I busted my ass for a month's nights to save his life. I haunted his ass for decades to protect it. The one time I convinced myself that I truly did not want to be near him… just a few seconds, too. Two seconds warning and I could've yanked him out of the way, or phased him out, or shadow-balled the car, or thund… or… or God dammit. Fucking dammit I could've done something. Anything. I'd do anything.”

Born behind a brim, two small, round, purple spots now permanently stained Joe's blanket.

“But I can't do anything. Not about that.” With a whipping motion, the hat flipped back and revealed a face behind and beneath. “And you can't do anything either, about what Grace heard you say. You're just going to have to figure out what you need to do next. Maybe she'll forgive you. I hope she does. You don't deserve to know this kind of cold. Funny, how it grew with the rest of me when I evolved.”

Again through the ceiling she disappeared, leaving Joe to sit alone and stare at his atom model's orbital, sticking out proud and strong.

* * *

  
Grace wept openly in rapidly changing tides. Joe's words echoed in her mind relentlessly, spurring a stronger flow, then letting it ebb until the exact moment she thought she may stop crying. Then she heard it again.

“I'm your master.” There was something in the word, the tone; the spelling was the same and the meaning, too, but this once it meant something completely different.

Ultimately her eyes cleared and her attention turned outward. She did not recognize where she was, or at least seemed to be. If she did, she would notice it to seem familiar. The tree she knelt before still had a hole in its fibrous trunk caused by her spine's horn and a lot of Psychic-type energy. Beside her stood a different gardevoir, green of flesh and long of patience. She waited until Grace stopped crying to speak. She waited until nearly nightfall, before collecting some fallen foliage and creating a small fire with will-o'-wisp, and waited still more for that opportunity.

“He really is his father's son, and you really are your mother's daughter.”

Grace removed her hands from her face and looked toward the voice she heard, and saw the green gardevoir, half-leaning against and half-sitting upon something. Grace glanced at her other surroundings. “Where… where am I?”

The other gardevoir stood away from the something allowing the fire's light to illuminate markings on its surface.

“Route 1. Marker 1. All roads lead to HOME.” The green gardevoir sat down again. “It's a very special place for pokemon like us, if you believe in the legend.”

“The legend?” Grace asked.

The other gardevoir laid herself down beside Grace and stared upward into the sky as it slowly darkened, reluctantly revealing the brightest stars one by one.

“For a long time, there was a story that our less-bestial species would pass around. Ask any wild chatot and it can tell you, because they feel like they own the story. They carried it to the mainland and shared it with other thoughtful birds like natu, or any pokemon that would listen, especially when the mainland did not know it was true, yet. The short version goes like this: One day a chatot flew high to hear the song of the sky, for the sky had changed its tune as it is wont to do, and he looked across the seas and saw a black star. He flew down toward it and discovered it was something afloat. It was trees, but stripped of their branches and brought together as one, like diglett sometimes become, but like a large husk. The chatot also saw a species of pokemon living inside it. They were strange, for they spoke differently than all other pokemon. The chatot was met with celebration and adoration by the strange pokemon, and he chose to remain near them for some time to learn their dialect. He then went home to tell his flock of his discovery. He rested from his long flight, took comfort with his mate, and soon returned to the floating star. The creatures quarreled. As chatot do, he tried to share each of their conversations with the rest of their flock, but instead of bringing them to conversation again, they ignored each other and took to fatal battle. He noticed that they used no elements and no magic; these were not pokemon but animals that somehow evolved to become like pokemon. Their language was mockery. Ultimately, only one of the creatures remained; one that resisted blood-lust and secreted itself away in peace. As it broke away from the black star a small piece to float upon by itself, the chatot decided to guide him to land so that he may survive. There, the survivor showed that its species used ingenuity rather than ability to survive. One of the pokemon on the island, a combusken, took interest in the survivor. She at first thought it was a blaziken who had lost its feathers, but soon became just as interested in him because it was not. The birds kept watch and discussed what they saw as the combusken quickly proved that she wanted to band with him as her first. The chatot all encouraged her, the altaria all denounced her. All lived as they would until the sky sang strangely again and another black star appeared and landed ashore. The chatot gathered in the canopy, knowing the creature and the combusken, then blaziken, were returning to their nesting site after an exploration, where that hen's second, also a blaziken, kept roost. The new creatures battled, injured, and drove off the cock. That, and seeing the hen and her first avoid the new creatures, assured the chatot that the one they knew was unique, and all others were a threat. Yet, the new creatures did not often quarrel among themselves. Unlike the first great band that destroyed itself, the second thrived. Over time, these creatures we know as human spread over our land, first the island, and later the region, from distant origin as well as nearby, and we came to know them as we do today—a strange sort of animal, one that may treat pokemon with the utmost love, consideration, and compassion, or the most despicable contempt, loathing, and violent hatred. A strange sort of animal that carries a terrible risk to befriend, but those that do reap incommunicable rewards. This marker, placed by that peaceful human, indicates approximately where the first partnership between pokemon and human formed in what they now call Ocimene.”

“That story is… kinda weird.”

The green gardevoir chuckled. “A little. But for a long time it was the only comfort a pokemon whose heart beat solely for its trainer had, and, until proof was discovered that the story was true, a book written by that human who accepted and returned a combusken's love, it was just a legend.”

“I guess if there's proof, I should believe in the legend.”

“You should, because you're lucky. Your human partner is young enough that he did not become filled with prejudice before you met, and he sees you as nothing less than you are.”

Grace stood, kicking some sand around. “He ordered me, as my master, to—”

Instantly, the other gardevoir teleported into a standing, and hovering, position directly before her. “He gave an order to a disobedient pokemon. That pokemon wasn't you, being you, the you he knows. It was selfish and bitter. That could have been your insidious ghost, that could have been me, but that was not his Grace.”

Grace's facial expression softened. “You're right, but you told me to do something about it.”

“I told you not to repeat her mistake.”

“Okay, but whose? Who is ‘her?’ ”

“Sunny.”

“I don't know anyone named Sunny.”

“Of course you do.”

“You?”

“I'm surprised she withheld that. Unless… no, not me.”

Grace expressed an old frustration re-surfacing. “Fine, I give up. Who are you, then?”

The other gardevoir considered Grace's question for what felt like some time before touching ground to match Grace's stance and responding in a low volume, sing-song pattern of tones after gently touching her left temple and bringing her node's tip to meet Grace's. “Inte a-vis tehisgo ies.”

Grace scoffed and her attention drifted. “Guided me? Some guidance; I've been sitting in damp sand for an hour and Joe talks to me like I'm an animal.”

With a little force, the green one helped the blue one to face her squarely. The two gardevoir looked like a single reflected form, save for their coloring. “Every mistake you haven't made, thank me for. Every time you felt both like you wanted more but already had plenty, thank me for. Every shred of intuition you've enjoyed, thank me for. Every time I've resisted temptation and the few times I haven't… thank me.”

Grace quickly shoved her reflection away. “No! Whoever or whatever you are, go away. Leave me alone. If you want me to thank you for anything, I'll thank you for that.” She turned and walked southward along the coastline until the other gardevoir disappeared behind her, and with that, the fire disappeared too. Grace gazed upward and recognized many constellations that also flew the night she last evolved. A few seemed out of sorts, and one prominent star was absent. “Perhaps some stars are wanderers?” she considered for a moment before turning away and exploring this strange place around her.

* * *

  
Hey, gang! It's time for a brain teaser and I've got the question for you right here: “Just how much does it cost to heat a swimming pool?” A big one; not the Rainiers' backyard tom-foolery, but something for professional competitions. Well, that means we're talking over a megaliter of water per meter of depth. I see it has a diving board so it's much deeper than three meters at one end at least, but we'll just round up along the way. A liter of water has a mass of one kilogram, and a calorie raises one gram of water by one centigrade degree. That's easy enough to work with: 3.75 billion calories per pool degree, or 15.7 gigajoules of energy. Of course, electrical power is priced by the kilowatt-hour, so we convert again to about 4,360 kilowatt-hours. Assuming that Simon gets industrial rates, which he does because he is a very influential man, and that the pool's heater is perfectly efficient, which is surely could not be, it's going to cost him something over a hundred quid for every degree such a pool is heated. I suppose that's not too bad after considering how much he spends treating Benny Barlow to fine dinners, but please, Mrs. Keymaster, refrain from competing with Ivana over tub temperature. You know that she'll win, and even if you would survive to match her limits, what shall we do with three megaliters of boiling water? Fill a caravan of dump trucks with lobster and pour it all in?

“That sounds delicious!” the Keymaster projected forcefully enough for a particular narrator to hear and become thus scolded by being reminded indirectly about his duty of maintaining a focused, objective, third-person point of view when establishing setting for a new scene in a story. “I haven't been stuffed with decapoda in so many years.”

“Seventy-five,” Ivana asserted from a small hot tub adjacent to the larger pool.

The Keymaster knew it was not a question but interpreted it as though it were. “At least, but surely longer.” The lugia extended her wing- and fin-like arms; or should that be, fin- and arm-like wings? Either way, she stretched out and floated lazily, despite her lowest points being just barely above the pool's bottom.

“Do you think you can handle it?” Ivana asked through her newly-replaced translator, so its synthetic tone would color her statement.

“Of course.” As the Keymaster demanded more of the pool's heater—and of Simon's executive comp budget, about another thousand pounds—she sighed and giggled. After all, if Ivana was relying on her indomitable Ice-type nature to keep her bodily tissues intact, it too must be fair for her to use her Psychic powers to create a raft of tiny bubbles and insulate herself from her pool's heat while still enjoying a sauna-like sensation. “Let me know when you're done fooling around.”

The articuno squawked, “Cocky bitch! You cried uncle at seventy-three last time.”

“Something is on your mind.”

Ivana stared at the bubbling jets for a moment, snapping out of her trance when the surface of her hot tub partially froze over and quickly shattered. “Fooling around, you say. I guess I'm done with fooling around. I've tried every eligible bachelor who would have me, and a few who wouldn't without some convincing. Finally I found one stud who really turned me on, and he resisted in every way he could. And then I had a talk with Gramps.”

“How is he doing? Crying-Tree gets in the way whenever I try to check on him myself.”

Tracing the tips of feathers across the water, Ivana made little frozen shapes while she replied. “He's fine for a human his age. He's going to keep working for a few years before finally re-retiring, for good, and this time he means it, seriously, except maybe once in a while he'll do some special event, for the good of Pokemon League Ocimene, of course.”

The Keymaster closed her eyes and submerged her head. Even insulated, the heat was intense and made her see spots both in her vision and in her mind. She quickly re-exposed it to open air. “For him alone, I wish humans had longer life spans. Would that I could, I would ask him to train Junior for a time. The ocean bores him in his youth, and I want him to learn all that he hungers to know through experience. But since Grandfather's time is spent, whom could I trust him to?”

“Master!” Ivana chirped, excitedly, before feeling a strange sensation as the Keymaster reacted so strongly that she let her powers leak a little.

“You jest, Chickie. His youthfulness is mostly spent, too, and Junior would not enjoy time with him.” The lugia sighed. “ ‘D.W.,’ maybe, but that chapter is closed.”

A row of little ice statues partially surrounded the hot tub, melting away shortly after being formed and placed by Ivana. “You haven't called me ‘Chickie’ since then. Since…” Uncharacteristically, she froze.

Letting her body sink to the bottom and turning in place, the Keymaster leaned over and reached across to cloak Chickie with her left wing. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you.”

Ivana made a funny sound before demanding, “Get back in your pool, Joan.” The articuno splashed at her companion; the splash shattered when it fell against the floor between their two basins. “I don't want to win the bet because you got out just to be all motherly. And make it eighty.”

The Keymaster submitted.

Ivana cooed and relaxed with a sigh as her water's temperature elevated again. This was more like it. “Even if Gramps would take care of Junior for whatever time he has left, wouldn't Crying-Tree make that kinda awkward?”

“He would manage.”

Ivana leaned up in her tub. “What was it between you and him, anyway? I never understood how two psychics seemed unable to communicate.”

“We communicated. He turned me down. I got pushy with him, and he pushed back.”

“Turned you down? You mean, you wanted him to…” Ivana felt another impulse as the Keymaster arched her neck.

“You aren't the only legendary girl who has wanted an egg and had trouble finding a suitor!”

“But, wouldn't that be kinda difficult? I mean, most xatu are around a meter and a half tall, and you're huge even for a lugia.”

“His stature only warranted accommodation. The difficult part was that neither of us could accommodate our—he told me that he saw; well, this, but I wanted us to do something about it and he refused. It was like he wanted it to be this way. I wanted to tell him how that made me feel, but he already knew. He knew and he made that choice for both of us anyway.” The Keymaster's psychic voice was beginning to waver. “That's when I realized that he didn't care that I wanted him to help me see things his way. That, that he wasn't willing to try. That—”

Ivana's translator carried her voice's concerned tone. “Are you getting too hot over there?”

In more ways than one. “Yes; you win.” Joan cut power to the heaters. All of them.

Ivana's water began freezing within seconds. “Hey! That's not fair!” she shouted as she broke free of the solidification and crawled out.

“My water's too hot. Come in and bring it down a notch.”

“I'll bring you down a notch,” Ivana playfully threatened as she dove into the larger pool. It was not long, however, before their horseplay ended, and Joan telekinetically flicked the master switch to turn off the lighting, as Chickie had snuggled into the crook of her wing and fallen asleep.

Just like old times.

* * *

  
“Don't you need a permit for that?”

The shouting man startled Burner and he almost lost his footing, standing on shingles too weathered to stay attached to the roof as it was. Quentin's flashlight was rather powerful and made Burner's pupils constrict when he looked down.

“Why don't you invite me in?”

Mister Parente did not expect the blaziken to leap from the roof, land with perfect form, open the cellar hatch, and wave him inside with a wrist-aflame flourish. He trod slowly and deliberately, painting every surface with his torch. Burner's glow aided both somewhat. “What I'm seeing here isn't exactly suitable, for human or pokemon habitation.” Burner suggested he ascend the stairs, and what he found there was somewhat more acceptable. When the man told him that they needed to talk, Burner indicated the unfurnished room, and bade him to sit.

“Is your friend here? Do you know who I am?”

Burner shook his head to both questions.

“Quentin Parente. I live across the street at the other end of the block, and I work for the city as a building inspector. I've done a little homework about this property, and I'm confident you don't have a permit to be mounting solar panels on the roof of this structure. In fact, this structure is standing only because it's not worth bulldozing. What's the deal? Are you two abandoned?”

“No. I have a home.”

“And the lucario?”

“She is welcome there.”

“So why is she here, with you, doing all this? This floor looks like a labor of love, but everything below it is trick-or-treat.”

“Alice wants to make this place her home, so her master can move here when he can.”

Quentin ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, I've met Alice. It looks like her trainer did a good job with her, and she's obviously well-intentioned. But, that also means she knows you can't just come onto private property and make it your own.”

Burner cocked his head to a slight angle. “Alice said she could. She said that she and her daddy had a plan. That's why she was working hard to make it nice inside.”

“Daddy?”

“She calls her trainer that.”

Mister Parente shifted a little, finding kneeling on the floor to be quite uncomfortable. “Okay, those solar panels. What's the story?”

“Someone with a lot of money wanted to apologize to us and gave her them because that's what Alice said she wanted if she could have an expensive gift.”

Quentin asked a few more questions, but they did not change things much. “Look, first of all, that roof might not be able to support the weight of a solar array. It would need to be inspected to get permits to put those panels up. Second, if somebody like me finds out about solar panels being installed without a permit, they're going to be ordered removed, and anyone involved is going to have a really shitty time—understand?”

Burner shook his head.

“Whatever you've put on the roof, take them down and stack them all somewhere out of sight. A pallet with a tarp over it in the backyard won't do. Get all the stuff out of that bedroom that you two need and if there's any food, put it in a box and take it to your home. It is in town, right?”

Burner nodded affirmatively.

“Good. Shut and lock any windows and exterior doors like the balcony, and that cellar door behind you when you go. Find your friend, and take her to your home. When the sun rises, this property is off-limits, understand?”

Burner made a sad bird sound.

“Blaziken, I'm on you two's side here. Tell her to visit me at my house in a couple of weeks. Okay?”

Burner stood and looked downward, both because of his emotion and because Quentin was significantly shorter than Burner was.

“Okay. Clear out.”

* * *

  
Without touching the metal door, a slowking leaned near it and grunted something about a noctowl.

“He's cool, he's with me,” spoke a dark form in darkness, except for round amber traces glowing faintly. Idis was keeping as low a profile as she could. Admitted passage, she trotted down a corridor running beneath Jolly Roger's and greeted a few familiar faces that she had not seen in quite some time. She passed through a large room with silver pillars and a stained floor, instructed the noctowl to follow another pokemon standing nearby, and bumped a push-button that opened a doorway for her. Within she met another umbreon, with whom she had a history. “Hey, Sidney.”

He greeted her with a reserved, but still affectionate, manner. “You've come back to us after all.”

“Not exactly. I'm… I've been thinking about getting sponsored.”

Sidney reared up on his haunches. “How bad did it get for you out there?”

Idis rubbed up against him. “Always a pessimist. I've been doing fine. You know there isn't a pokemon on four feet who can fake an identity card better than I can.”

“Yeah, I know. Your skills have been sorely missed since you quit. Who are you now?”

“Some persian named Isis lost a fight and lost her vest. I changed an ‘s’ to a ‘d’, found a trainer account with high credit and low activity, and voila, I'm a lent pokemon named Idis with unlimited access to some schmuck's funds. Or at least I was until I spent a little too much too often and tripped an audit, so I had to run really fast for a while until I got back in touch with that nimrod owl.”

“Alright, that's typical for you. Getting sponsored, though?”

“Yeah. See, I met a blaziken at a mall; real choice, of course he's taken. But, it got me to thinking, and then I caught up with him and his trainer by chance a while later. I got to spend some more time with the fireball, and… I don't know. I'm being stupid, thinking that maybe I could get on with them, live the dream of actually being friends with your trainer and his other pokemon, maybe spend more time out of the ball than in, lie comfortably on soft cushions at nap time, have fun battling but not get beaten to a pulp over and over so some other pokemon can feel the rush a few more times before a big gym match that you aren't a part of. I mean, blaziken, and a big one like that. You only see two types, usually. Kid got a torchic starter, raised it all wrong, but dammit he'll try his best for him; or a well-oiled ass-kicking machine on a team that uses a blaziken-friendly strat. This one was in the middle. Well over two meters, looked like he could kick a tauros and collapse both of its lungs. Guaranteed a top-quality breeder specimen. Was he kept in his ball? Was he being instructed for his next battle? No, his evening was he got to take a nice bath as long as he wanted, and then he was in bed beside his trainer, both of them talking about maybe going out to journey for the fun of it. Not glory, not fame, not money; but whimsy! Honestly, I wished I was in that room.”

“It's a big risk, babe. Are you sure you want to be in a position where you could wind up stalling or jobbing for some kid you don't really know? Sure, first summer he might journey for fun; second might have him ordering that blaziken to brick-break your spine for ‘practice.’ Is that what you want?”

The female umbreon stood and prepared to walk away. “I said I'm being stupid, and you know I'm too slippery to need to worry about escape plans. Just get with an ally in data and have them remove the bogus ball entry assigned to my image. Bill's changed the maintenance log-in a month ago so I can't do it myself until I get new credentials or crack a termi'.” Idis left with a broad swing of her tail at maximum glow.

Sidney bowed his head and grumbled to himself, “Why didn't you ask if I've found a sponsor?”

* * *

 


	19. Cleavages

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 19: Cleavages.

* * *

  
Daniel placed a few boxes of berry juice on his coffee table. “Sorry it's kid sized, but little boxes are good for coolers on expeditions so we buy it in bulk.”

Grace thanked him for his hospitality, punctured one through its foil seal, and took a sip. Daniel also poured some shelled sunflower seeds for a chatot perched near Grace.

“Did you and Tutti have a good conversation? He'll talk your ears off if you'll let him.” Dan regretted his choice of words. “Uh, if you have ears. I don't know…”

Grace smiled softly. “It's fine. Calm down. You're so worked up I can't help but feel your panic.”

Daniel sat with inappropriate force, as though the seat were an inch or two lower than his ass expected it to be. “It's just that, I wasn't ready for—”

“Let me,” Grace interjected with a perky slyness in her voice: “For a beautiful gardevoir to knock on your door and ask if there was a pokecenter nearby where she could stay. For admitting that it's completely on the other side of the island but that you would offer to put her up for the night. For getting really nervous and spending way too long in the kitchen trying to sort things out while your friend here told me everything about all your fantasies that you thought nobody else knew about. Really, Daniel, considering what you watch when you think you're alone, you should be familiar enough with my anatomy to know if these are ears or not. But, I guess that indicates which parts of the performances you've been paying the most attention to.” She took another sip, pleased with herself as Daniel froze, flushed. After a few seconds she let him off the hook. “I'll tell you a secret: whatever parts of my species interest you most, if you ever get lucky enough to get lucky with a girl like me—although it won't be me—these gills are the part you should show the most interest in. Get what I'm saying?”

“Yeah, I think.”

“Good.” Grace supped from her carton until it gurgled, gasped, and collapsed, exhausted. “Now, I'm going to ask Tutti to tell me a bedtime story, and you need to get back to work so the professor won't give you hell, right?”

“You really are a mind-reader,” Daniel admitted with a slight hint of delight.

Grace pierced another carton. “You know what? I've never done this before. I've always kept myself out, because depending on who it was it would either make them angry or uncomfortable or it would just be weird for them. But, tonight I just didn't really care and, yeah, I've been reading you. First I did it to make sure I wasn't approaching a creep for help. But after that, I did it because I can, and, I don't know… it makes me feel… lighter. I like it. Have I been as rude as I have been inconsiderate, or do people expect this from Psychic-types?”

“No. I mean, yeah, but, I'm not mad. I'm embarrassed and uncomfortable, but that's not your fault. I couldn't be mad, since, I've always imagined living with… that. Other people, though, I know some avoid Psychics because of that.” Daniel sighed. “God, you must think I'm a weirdo.”

In a flash, Grace teleported beside him. “Don't be embarrassed about what your friend told me and what I can see inside your thoughts now that you're remembering all the dirty pictures and movies you've seen. I like knowing that a man can look at my pale gray skin, always-in-the-way horns, weird hair, waist curtain, kinda-gnarly fingers, flat butt, flat chest, missing no…”

Dan stole a kiss. Grace gently pushed him away; after a few seconds.

“…and want to do that with her.”

Daniel blushed so brightly his skin seemed to glow. “Oh, God, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me.”

“I do.” Grace's voice was perky again. “I confused your self-control for a moment to see what would happen.”

“But, still…”

She leaned against him. “How did I compare to that gardevoir of your dreams?”

“It was—”

Grace swiftly touched his right temple with one kinda-gnarly finger.

“You were,” he twitched, “incomparable.”

Grace smiled faintly. “I hope my… master,” she admitted with a sigh, “finds me incomparable, too.”

Crestfallen, but not surprised, Daniel put on a brave face. “If he doesn't, he's a fool for not seeing how lucky he is to know you.”

“Oh, he's worse than a fool. He's a high school freshman boy with a red-head temptress for a lab partner.” Grace huffed and returned to the opposing seat with another flash. “From what I've seen on T.V., even though I have home court advantage, that's a tough match-up.” She lazily brought her juice box and straw to her lips and sucked it dry.

“Are you going to fight for him?”

Grace shuddered. “I have to. If the consequences are going to be what I believe they'll be—.” She did not need to finish her sentence, so she tried another one. “What about you? You live on an island all alone and you seem to know what type of girls you like. Why haven't you gone to a pokecenter on the mainland and checked the listings? There's gotta be a gardevoir girl out there somewhere. Maybe her owner's getting out of the league and can't keep taking care of everybody, or she wants to get away from all those annoying people who look at her and think hurtful thoughts. She likes going for long walks on remote beaches beneath the stars and wants nothing more than to start a new life with someone she can look into and see that she can give him all of her faith.”

“Well, that's the thing. I know that's not what she would see. She would see some guy who spent his most-virile years studying history and reading about how to figure out the age of broken pottery. She'd see the kind of guy who would see her for the first time and think: ‘Wow, I've finally bought a slave that matches my sexual fantasies, time to take her home and train her to be a good wife.’ God, that's terrible.”

Having intended to provoke a response but certainly not that one, Grace stood, and compelled Daniel to stand, too, as she approached. “It would be terrible—absolutely frightening—for a gardevoir to meet a new trainer and see that in him. But, she wouldn't see that in you. She would see your fear of her seeing that. You're thinking of it like a human does, worried about what others think because your species can't see and never honestly tell. For a gardevoir, getting to know somebody is about feeling how they feel and how they react to their own feelings. The first time you opened that ball, and she felt what I felt when you admitted your worry, she would know that you were ashamed of yourself because you honestly did not want her to feel terrified that you were going to abuse her for your own pleasure, and why you thought that she would. That means she would also know that inside you,” she poked his chest, “stronger than your desire to make love to a gardevoir, is a desire to earn the love of a gardevoir.”

Daniel swallowed hard once Grace removed her poking digit. “But, do you think that I could earn it?”

“Maybe, someday, if you find the right one and know how to make a good impression. Begin by spending those midnight hours learning about what really matters to us, instead of about what kind of unique positions levitation allows.”

“Good idea.”

Grace took his hand with one of her own, and placed the other on his temple. “I can't say this with words without it sounding like an insult, so this way you'll feel how I mean it.” She closed her eyes. “I've seen what has happened to a lot of gardevoirs; they all deserved at least somebody like you. Even if you deserve to feel the way you do about yourself, you wouldn't hurt us.”

Their increasing synchronization became uncomfortable for both for different, but shared, reasons.

Daniel opened their eyes and pulled her hand away. “I—I should be getting back to work before it's too late. Thank you, Grace. Uh, goodnight. Ma'am.”

For a while, Grace lounged about, helping herself to the last juice box and flipping through a book on Danny's coffee table. It was a collection of quotations, proverbs, and idioms. At first she found it curious that a book of such random stuff would be interesting, but once she realized that she could look up things that her speech T.M. either could not explain or phrases whose meanings did not match the words that made them up, an hour passed before she felt properly tired and set it down.

Grace adjusted couch cushions to make for suitable bedding and listened to Tutti recall in his species' tradition the story of the first man's arrival to Hollingsmoth Island. It had its own unique flair as he told it. She also kept tabs on Daniel's mindset as he finished his tasks, and when he went to sleep, she chose to give him a little thank-you for being a considerate host who did not let his mind wander into visions of him fulfilling his carnal desires with a mental manifestation of his dream garde-girl's behavior applied to Grace's bodily image as one fresh in his memory. She projected into him a sampling of the joys she had felt by spending time with Joe. Whether a gardevoir lover was in his future or otherwise, she wanted him to know what kind of light his love and companionship could bring into someone's, anyone's, life.

* * *

  
Grace began awakening when she felt something stiff but yielding pressing against her thigh. She shifted a little.

Daniel began awakening when he felt something hard and firm pressing against his xyphoid process. He yelped and fussed, rolling over a little, over the edge of his bed.

Grace sensed motion and thoughtlessly activated one of her powers. “Careful, Joe, falling out of bed hurts.” She leaned up and tossed her head to re-arrange her hair, which had settled over her eyes as though she were two sizes smaller. Then, she recognized that it was not Joe whom she suspended a few feet above the floor. She clambered out of the bed and then pulled him back over it so she could release her telekinetic hold safely. “Daniel… I'm… sorry, I guess I got lonely. I usually sleep with him, beside him, uh, you know, I mean, not, you know you know, uh—”

Daniel cracked a smile.

Grace blushed and threw a pillow at him. “Stop thinking I'm cute when I'm blushing and can't get my words out! That speech thing helps me say my thoughts, but my thoughts start as feelings so it gets messed up sometimes.” She floated around the foot of the bed as he removed the pillow. He was still smiling. She huffed and turned to her left to oppose him.

Her reflection stood before her inside a full-body mirror. Her reflection was not wearing a dress befitting fine dining, but if she were wearing right now the dress that Ivana's money paid for, her reflection would look just like—.

Dan grunted a little, rolling out of bed again but with greater coordination this time. “I think I'll take a shower. I usually do cereal and toaster pastry for breakfast, but if you want something closer to the complete breakfast they show on commercials, my kitchen's yours.”

Grace muttered an affirmative sound that was not a word of human language, and Daniel repaired to his bathroom.

Dried and dressed, he was met with a generous spread. Dan felt her inviting him to be seated, and presented him with a stack of three pancakes. “Thank you, Grace,” he said uncomfortably.

“Think nothing of it.” She said as she sat opposite with a meal of her own.

He began glancing around, then watched with awe as she brought the syrup over from across the kitchenette with a gentle gesture of her left hand. “Think nothing of that, either.”

“You really are amazing.”

Grace's mouth was full, so she projected rather than vocalized, “Do you mean ‘you’ as in me, personally, or ‘you’ as in gardevoir in general?”

“Uh, well, both. Seeing and feeling your powers is amazing. It's like finding out a story you always heard but never really believed was really true after all. But, all that aside, you, Grace, are an amazing and wonderful person, and—whoa… what… what was that?”

Grace swallowed and looked at him with a both euphoric and dysphoric expression. “That's what it feels like when something like me hears somebody like you address her as a person, without even a slightest equivocation in his mind about using the word, as though I really were a human.”

They ate in silence for a little while. He acquired additional butter without her aid. “Is that why you ran away? He equivo… equivocated?” Daniel asked. Grace palmed her jaw and faced away slightly. “I'm not a psychologist, obviously. But, archaeology does mean putting two and two together sometimes. You jumped into my bed some time during the night, and when you woke up, you thought you were with him. Your heart knows where it wants to be and hasn't given up on him, even if he made a mistake.”

“I'm afraid.”

“Afraid of those consequences you didn't want to talk about?”

“It's more than that. I mean, if that was going to happen, I could run. It'd be hard, but I could if I had to. But, I'm afraid of what would happen to me afterward. Deep inside me, I have a fear of something, but I don't know what it is. It's like a dark shadowy thing, lurking near the horizon, waiting to get me. And, I'm also afraid of simply being alone. I've never been alone. I have a si… very good friend, and I've learned a little from her, because she lost her entire family. I don't ever want to be alone. I've been inside her mind and I have no idea how she bears it as well as she does. It's like, she'll break down for about a minute and a half, and then she's fine again. I guess part of it is because of what I am, but there's no way I can let it out and turn it off like that.”

Daniel wiped his mouth and cleared their plates. As Grace stood, he took her into a hug. “Grace. Go home and make sure that young man understands before he does any stupid teenager things.”

“But, what if he doesn't. He can't understand, truly, what it's like for a gardevoir. And, she is a human like he is. Even if not Scarlet, it's natural for him to want a human girl. I can't make him give up a normal life.”

“No, but it's only fair if you're willing to give up a normal life to slum with a human who can't even lift things with his mind, that he realize just how amazing and wonderful a non-equivocal person you are, and that he could be giving up something I always wished I could have.”

He felt her body become significantly warmer. “I want to go home to him. But, I don't really know where I am.”

Daniel stepped away. “I can get you close to the harbor. After that, it's north to the mainland, but you'll be at the mercy of a water pokemon escort or a sailor to make the trip. Unless you think you can levitate across the water.”

“How far is it from here?”

Returning from his study with a bag and a briefcase and reaching for a set of keys, Daniel assumed she meant to the harbor. “Walking, too far. Riding, and after what we've been talking about, two and a half uncomfortable silences.”

Grace took up the book and followed Daniel out.

* * *

  
“I told you you wouldn't be able to concentrate on reading during the ride!”

Flying along a jungle path in a modified dune buggy, Grace held onto the book with her blue knuckles turning white while Daniel threatened to drive faster. She noticed a large outcropping of berries near a prominent plaque. “Route 3. Marker 34. North to Heinrich's Watch Tower.”

“Who's Heinrich?” Grace asked.

“A blaziken, we know now. Used to be everybody thought he was a hand from Gaufrid Sindelbock's ship and somebody important since the name appears on a few of the other old, original markers. That isn't what happened, though. After a diary from that time turned up, we found out—”

“I know. Tutti told me everything except the names.”

Daniel looked at her for a moment, then quickly back to the path, as it was prone to surprise even a familiar traveler. “How does he know?”

“They all know. It's part of their oral history.”

Daniel slowed for a sharp turn. “They never told us.”

After passing a silent straightaway, a bright, clean, modern sign indicated “Route 3, Marker 39.” No legend accompanied that designation.

“You never asked them,” Grace chided as she unfastened her seat belt and hopped out when the vehicle stopped before a small building.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye. It was a pleasure to meet you, Grace; if—”

“Grace Rainier; officially, someday, I hope.”

Daniel nodded gently. “If you ever visit the island again, feel free to drop in.”

“If I do, I hope to meet somebody new, too.”

Daniel smiled for only a quarter second. “The museum is up the path, after Marker 40. Keep going and you'll run out of jungle at North-Tip Harbor. The pokecenter is there, although really it's just a hole in the wall of the general store. Ask around, and you should be able to hitch a ride to the mainland. Except when storms come through, there's always at least one boat coming and going every day. And if you have no luck, meet me back here in the afternoon. You're welcome to spend another night, of course.”

“I guess I'm lucky either way. And, you were right about the book. Oh, it's still on the seat; is it okay there or do you want to take it inside with you?”

“Keep it. The ride to Hexyloxy or Coroxon or wherever you're going to wind up is pretty long, and if you aren't doing something, the sailors will probably try to put you to work.”

Grace thanked him again, and gave a look back as he walked into the building where he worked. Book in hand, she began gliding along Route 3, heading to where she needed to be.

* * *

  
“Geejyeanghgnjyeanghgnjyeanghgnjyeanghuya!” everybody felt echo in their minds and ear canals at about the same moment as Grace approached the island's market. It was spacious and clearly dealt primarily with case orders.

“Well, it's not like I could stop him,” asserted one voice.

“If he isn't feeling better before his mother comes back, we've had it,” fretted another.

Grace looked around a rack of goods and found a relatively-small lugia laying flat on the floor. Two humans stood above it, both radiating anxiety.

“Excuse me,” Grace asked either, “I was told that I can get a ride on a boat to the mainland. Can you tell me who I need to talk to about that?”

Everyone's stance buckled as the lugia projected and voiced another sound and tried to roll over.

“No, no! Other side! That side will make it worse, Kid.” One of the shopkeepers knelt and strained to roll Junior onto his left. “There's a radio at the counter if you want to put out a call—all the ships coming or going tune into it—but usually you just wait by the docks and look for a boat.”

Grace nodded. “Are you okay?” she asked the lugia.

He focused his telepathy so the humans would not hear. “Uncle Gil told me if I don't do what they tell me, Arceus will punish me. Uncle Gil was right.”

“He'll be fine in a few hours,” commented the other shopkeeper. “He decided he wanted to learn about every kind of candy and junk food at once. Now, he's learning about overindulgence.”

Grace decided to skip the radio and head for the docks. As she left, she realized that departing presently was probably a wise choice.

“Oh, shit; I think he's gonna hurl. Get a bucket!” shouted one voice behind her.

“A bucket? That won't hold a third of what he ate; get a garbage can!” shouted the other.

A moment later, a projection of Junior's honest apology was felt by everybody nearby.

* * *

  
Grace discovered a small tiki bar near the docks. She sat beneath its awning for a while and watched for ships that would not appear. The passage of time seemed indistinct and her mind wandered into a state of complete inattention until a flaaffy behind the counter startled her by asking what she would like to have.

“Do you have berry juice?”

“That's about all I have,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Anything close to lemonade will be fine.”

The flaaffy placed a blender on his bar's surface. Its wire ended not with a plug, but well-exposed leads. He wrapped one around each of his horns. “You like it sour? Sounds like what you need is an Iapapa-Colbur Catastrophe.”

Grace glanced for her purse and realized that she did not have it with her; what she clutched was the book. “No, wait, I don't have any money. I—”

“Forget about it. The first one's always free, they say, and if you can actually down what I'm going to give you with a straight face, seeing it happen is payment enough. And if you can't, it's worth the laugh.” Sparks crawled across his horns and set the blender's blade into a whirl.

Grace enjoyed her drink and a little of the flaaffy's family history until a boat came into port. She thanked her server and left to hail the boat's captain.

Captain Gil heard her plight and took a long moment to think about it. “I guess it'll be okay if you ride along. You gotta be nice and not bother the fella down below, though. Let's say he had a few too many last night.”

Grace thanked him and teleported aboard.

“You got a ticket?”

Grace blushed and admitted she had nothing but what she wore and carried.

“Lemme see that,” Gil demanded, indicating the book while he moved near the wheel and switched cliche captain hats. He took the book from her, flipped through a few pages, glanced at her, at the book again. Opening it to the back cover, he pulled from a pocket glued-in surely by a librarian a paper card, held it to the sunlight, replaced it, and shut the book forcefully, making it clap.

He returned the book and walked away from Grace. “Should I stay up here, then?” she asked.

Gil shrugged as he descended to the dock. “Nah, you can go in the cabin and out of the sun if you like. He probably wouldn't notice even if you sat on him. If he does wake up, though, his head's going to be pounding. Help yourself to the soda fountain if you like, anything but the ginger ale. That's saved to settle the seasick. We'll be off in a half-hour, I just gotta get some goods and check on the nephew.”

Inside the cabin, Grace noticed a man's feet sticking out from a booth seat. Candy wrappers, dice, and the man's shoes were scattered about. There was a brown paper bag stapled shut on a small table. She found a seat with a working light above it and started paging through her book. It held her interest, but something was making her feel uncomfortable. Soon enough, the boat was on its way again. Grace left the cabin and watched the island shrink away, enjoying sensations of sea air flowing through her hair and skirts.

“There's so much of it.”

“What's that?” Gil replied as he switched hats again. “Use your telepathy, Girl. I'm used to it.”

Grace formed a connection with surprising ease. “I said, there's so much water. I've never been on the ocean before. I knew it was big from T.V. and things, but I couldn't imagine something so, well, vast.”

Despite any telepathic bridges, Gil always spoke aloud to Psychic-types. “I take it this was your first tour of the island?”

“It wasn't much of a tour. More like a sleep-over.”

“You've got a friend living on the island?”

“I do, now.”

Carlos emerged from the cabin holding his head.

Gil glanced his way when he heard the door slam shut. “I don't know who's having it worse; you, or Junior.”

“What do you mean?” he asked as he staggered near and found something to balance against.

“He finally got his momma to let him meet some folk on the island. Then, he wanted to meet all those cartoon cereal and candy mascots by eating their products.”

Grace drifted near the wheelhouse. “Are you talking about that pokemon at the store?”

Gil puffed on his pipe. “He's the one. Lugia are both rare and powerful. His mother shelters him something fierce.”

Grace giggled. “I know what that's like. My mother kept me away from humans and any pokemon that could talk. Of course I wondered why. She only told me that she wanted me to find a good mate before I got around any humans or their pokemon. Now I understand, though. It was because I'm blue instead of—” she cut herself short and glanced at Carlos. “Did you want to say something?”

He woke up, and nearly fell over upon looking at Grace. “No! Go ahead.”

Grace politely ignored the explosion of assorted emotions that wanted to burst from his head and continued. “Anyway, her plans changed, but at least I got a good trainer, and if I'm lucky enough, the other part, too.”

“What are the odds of that, being different colors than normal?” asked Carlos.

Gil altered course a little. “Eight-thousand to one in the wild; a little better for the breeders. They got their secrets about it.”

Grace took an interest in the red crystals mounted near the wheel. “I guess I lucked out, but I hope that's not the only thing that makes me special.” She turned and watched Carlos as he staggered back to the cabin. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” he shouted with a curt tone before opening the cabin door and descending.

Captain Gil poked at an electronic display. “Still got a while lot longer before we dock again, but unless you like watchin' me smoke or find anticipating shoreline coming into view exciting, it might be better if you head down there, too. He ain't fine, and now that he's tryin' to be up and around, I'd hate him to bang his head or something and not find out till it's too late to do him any good.”

A gust of wind caught the door when Grace opened it. Carlos turned with a jerk as the door was thrown wide, revealing a silhouette of a gardevoir surrounded by a bright glow. The image startled him well enough that he spilled a freshly-dispensed soda.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Let me help—”

Carlos staggered away as Grace drew a bar rag to her grasp, quickly approaching him. “Don't—don't touch me, please.”

At least he accepted the rag as she held it out to him. She returned to her seat and re-opened her book, although most of her attention focused on him as he settled back into the booth like it was a fainting couch and worried diligently. After a while, he seemed to calm down, but his head still hurt.

“Is it okay if I talk to you?”

He grunted.

“I'm Grace Rainier. What's your name?”

“Diego Ortega.”

“When you first came out of this cabin, you seemed not to mind me, but then that changed. Why?”

Carlos leaned up a little. “Ha—have you been reading my thoughts?”

“Why are so many humans worried about… no, I haven't. I don't do that unless I have a good reason. But I would like to know how I upset you.”

Carlos reclined again. “You remind me about something.”

About some thing. Grace set that aside. “You seem familiar to me, too, but I can't place you at all. Have we met in passing or something? I'm sure you'd remember me, since I'm a one-in-eight-thousand after all.”

“I don't think so.” His delivery was suspiciously flat.

“Are you sure? I live in Rennin,” she felt his mind twitch, “but I've never been very far from there since that became my home. Before that I lived all over the forest near Mount Buchu, but didn't really meet any people.”

“Nope. I'm sure we haven't met.”

She turned a page and read it, giving his mind time to settle. “If you weren't afraid of me, I would offer to soothe your mind. My master has trusted me and let me practice enough that I've learned to be very gentle. But, a side effect would be that I would be able to see exactly what you're thinking.”

“I'll wait out the hangover.”

She read another page. At its bottom, she remembered nothing of what she read. It was pointless to continue trying. “Did one of us hurt you?”

Big twitch. “No. Miss Rainier, I don't think it's okay for you to talk to me anymore. You're making my headache worse.”

That comment irritated Grace. “You are the one making your headache worse. Making up lies takes effort, and that's all you've been doing.”

He groaned and pulled himself up and sipped from his half-soda. “Fine. You caught me. My name is actually Carlos, I've never met a Psychic-type I liked, and the last time I was in Rennin—to hell with that place.”

Grace shut her book and stood, slowly drifting to the booth seat opposite his. “I'm sorry if I reminded you of something bad, but I don't understand why I can feel you blaming me personally for that. If you would let me, I would feel better if I could help you—”

“If you don't like my emotions, if you want to help me, go back to the deck and let me pass out, por favor.”

Consenting, Grace returned to the wheelhouse. “Carlos is resting again. He seems to be a very hateful person.”

“Junior likes him. He can't be too bad.” Gil focused on a particular memory involving Carlos and Junior for Grace's benefit.

“He's a Psychic-type, right? I felt him projecting really strongly at the store.” The captain affirmed. “He must have seen something in that guy, then, that I haven't because he didn't want me to look beneath what's on his surface. And, he told me he never met a Psychic-type he liked.”

Gil chuckled. “Considering he's had three lugias inside his head and that's the least of his troubles, I wouldn't hold that comment against him and I doubt Junior would either. I also wouldn't blame him for not setting out a welcome mat for another pokemon to come in and start messing with things upstairs.”

“I guess you're right. I got probed deeper than I thought by a Psychic-type once, myself, and it does feel weird when you realize that you're thoughts aren't what you expect them to be. Anyway, I just wanted to help, and find out why his mind feels familiar.”

“Take the wheel for a second.” Gil stepped aside and let Grace stand in his stead. When she took the wheel, he placed a captain's hat upon her head. She began to speak, but he interrupted her. “See the line on the dial of the compass? All you gotta do is keep it there.” He then opened a metal box nearby and rifled through it.

* * *

  
“Come on, B, let's look inside. If it's a store-closing sale, this is our only chance!”

Burner had no argument upon which to base a protest. Alice dragged him through the front door as soon as they let pass a disheveled man exiting the strange shop holding a cardboard box. The air that followed him was thick with patchouli oil. Half of the store was picked clean, the other half: obviously things that were hard to move even at a clearance price. A bell above the door chimed as Burner entered, touched by one of his horns. Alice almost fluttered around as she perused. Burner was not interested in piles of old junk, brightly-colored as much of it was, and stood beside the sales counter. A man forced a curtain of beads aside as he returned from the rear and adjusted his yellow glasses before taking a seat. Alice glanced at him and waved briefly with a nod. Burner responded only by shifting his eyes. Alice began digging through a bin.

“Is that your girl, big guy?” Howard whispered.

Burner hummed.

“Is this your guy, little girl?” Howard asked across his sales floor.

Alice emphatically answered, “One-hundred-ten-per-cent!”

Howard returned to a whisper. “I can't help but notice a difference in you two's responses.”

“I think she likes showing me off,” Burner grumbled.

Howard fetched from beneath his counter some supplies and rolled for himself a gourmet cigarette. “I wouldn't blame her. What about you, her?”

“I won't… exhibit her like a trophy.”

Alice held up a strange device filled with golden putty. “How much for this?”

The proprietor puffed a smoke ring. “Make an offer. Everything must go, at least until what's left can fit in my van. I'm making the big move to Tartaroyal.” He turned back to Burner. “You should, you know.”

Burner hummed with a tone that besought explanation.

“She knows she's a very desirable creature in at least a couple ways, and at the drop of a hat she's telling the world she's completely satisfied, man. That means she sees you as a very desirable creature, too. After a while, she might get to wondering why you aren't willing to tell the world the same; you dig?”

Alice collected a few other trivial objects in a spare box lying about and brought it to the counter. “Everything must go, right?”

“Everything and everybody, sooner or later. Those wheels ain't never gonna stop turning 'round.”

* * *

  
Navigating about an unremarkable buoy, Gil began slowing his craft in preparation of his approach to Hexyloxy Harbor. “I'll tell you somethin', just my opinion on things. If a gal in a pretty dress popped up out of nowhere and said she thought I was familiar, I'd deny everything, too. I don't know anything about that man's past, but I know what is and ain't my business.”

When it was time to step ashore, Gil roused Carlos and led his passengers off. Gil made a little small-talk with Grace. “I bet you can feel the poles at the pokecenter from here, so I guess you'll teleport the rest of your way.”

“I wish! I couldn't even hop across town without passing out.”

Gil adjusted his hat. “How'd you get out to H.I., anyway? You said it was your first time on the ocean, so unless you came by chopper or in your ball or something.”

Grace stopped to think about it. “Uh, I don't remember. I was just kinda, there, suddenly. On the beach; by some 1–1 marker.”

“Well, I've heard stranger stories. Usually they involve rum.”

“I've never tried it. Maybe I shouldn't. Who knows where I might end up?”

The captain chuckled. “In bed, in my experience. As you said, if you're lucky enough.” Captain Gil gave her a wink and took his leave.

Grace half-walked and half-floated about town. She seemed to know where Hexyloxy Pokecenter was by instinct; in fact the path seemed eerily familiar. Once there, she asked the nurse if she could rest in its vast lobby for an hour. Permitted, relaxed, and calmed, she felt pretty good lying upon a wide sofa-like piece of furniture with a cushion gap right where her antenna protruded; until she suddenly remembered, “My book!” She rose up from her supine position forcefully and blacked out, having immediately struck her forehead against a wooden beam.

When Grace recovered her senses, she realized that she was in a very warm environment. It was not completely dark, but there was no artificial illumination. She reached around herself, found the beam, and tried to get up carefully. The ceiling was far too low to stand beneath.

Marianne flipped a page in a white photograph binder with a soft, padded cover. Aside from daylight trickling through vent grilles, her jewels contributed additional light of a crimson cast. “Good choice head-banging the collar tie. If you'd missed and kept going, one of those protruding shingle nails would've put an extra hole in your head.”

“Wuh… where am I?” Grace looked about, finding insulation, trusses, dust, a bundle of silver wire, boxes, a ghost, and an empty bottle of glue.

Marianne flipped another page. “You're in my bedroom. Uninvited, I might add, and interrupting my ‘Me’ time. Were you hoping I might not notice and you would get a chance to dream-eat me?”

Grace crawled across a platform of plywood. “You didn't bring me here?”

Marianne cast the photo album aside. “What reason in any of the nine Hells would I have to bring you up here? Let's try the opposite. GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” Marianne rushed Grace, ensnared her, and flung her through the plywood and drywall beneath her, into the living room. Grace broke her own fall with levitation and shook her head to clear it, casting calm-mind on herself. The house appeared to be otherwise empty. She checked Joe's room. Her purse and his ball clip lay on his dresser. She crawled into her master's bed and clutched his blankets. She attempted to sense any psychic remnants of his recent mindset, anything to tell her what she missed while she was wherever she had been. She could not discern anything, however, because there was another, overwhelming, remnant energy nearby, in the doorway. It was that of a gardevoir, but one that never actually stood there.

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
“Hey!” Grace gave up on looking and tapped the ceiling with a broomstick's blunt end.

Marianne's hat and eyes fell through. “Exactly how bored are you?”

“Do you know where they went?”

“They?”

Scowling, Grace clarified, “The boys.”

“Oh. Somewhere else.”

Grace played trump. “Well, since I'm the only living thing in the house, I guess I can put the stereo on a station I like and turn it up really loud.” She drifted across the living room and began fiddling with a receiver.

“You play with fire, young lady. I'm not in a mood for music that sucks.”

“Are you in a mood to answer my question?”

Marianne fell through completely and flipped right-side-up. “You're not gonna like it.”

Grace placed her hand on the volume knob. “Last chance.”

“O—kay. After the first night he was distraught and worried, and spent all that afternoon looking for you. He tried the centers and asked the neighbors and all that. When he ran out of ideas, the squatter suggested that you'd be fine and he should just have faith in you and wait. By day four—”

“What do you mean, day four?”

“What else could I mean?” Marianne began raising tendrils and pointing them at Grace as she counted, “One potato, two potato, three potato,” she paused, “whore.”

Grace snatched up the fourth and jolted Marianne with a thunder-wave. “I'm sick of you calling me that!”

Marianne darted through Grace's head and as she passed through, let her own Electric-type power arc across the tips of Grace's gills, simultaneously chilling and stunning her. “And I'm sick of you getting all touchy-feely with that poor, innocent lad when you want to get off and then ditching him for exposing a little backbone and putting you in place for once. Fortunately for him, Scarlet likes backbone and slipped right in to fill the void you left behind. Joe didn't seem to mind, and right now, they're off with the Mister, shopping for some stuff they're going to throw into the pool when it gets too cold for them to swim it.” Pondering, she soon added, “Perhaps we should celebrate our evolutions' anniversary with a re-match.”

Grace sat on the love-seat. “How many days have I been gone?”

Marianne perched upon her head. “Too many to be good for your future plans, considering what a sensitive time it is in your”—Marianne added great emphasis on the next word—“trainer's life.”

“I thought I was only gone for a night.”

“I thought you only hit your head on that truss hard enough to raise a welt. I guess neither of us wins a prize today.”

Marianne left Grace's head and Grace rubbed its point of collision. It was not hurting anymore. “I guess there's nothing much to do but to wait for him, them, to come home.”

“I can think of a few things you could do.”

“Like what?”

Marianne floated around Grace in a tight, swift orbit. “Snoop through James' things; clean house; do laundry as an excuse to imbalance the machine, sit on it, and masturbate.” The ghost entangled the Psychic's shoulders and shook her forcefully, “The world is your oyster, Girlfriend!”

Grace's flesh turned rosy and she whispered, “Does it feel better that way?”

Marianne accumulated herself against the side of Grace's body and whispered in reply, “Actually, I saw it in a film. I don't know for sure because,” she stopped whispering, “I AM MADE OF MIST!”

Grace recoiled.

“Vibration doesn't really do much for me unless applied directly to my crystals. I did try it once, but they rattled over the edge before I did.” Marianne flicked one scornfully with a tendril.

Grace turned in the seat and laid herself down, adjusting cushions to taste.

Marianne scoffed. “Or you can be lazy. Better on James' sofa than mine, I guess.” She exited upward.

* * *

  
James pulled over, Joe shifted over, and Scarlet slid her seat forward as far as it could go. She was dismayed when she tried sliding it back to recover her leg-room and discovered that she could not. The taller hitch-hiker filled the entire space. Indeed, the roof forced him to sit hunched forward. She could feel his warm breath. It made her break a nervous sweat.

“What's in the box?” Joe asked of Alice while she buckled herself in the center bench seat.

“I bought myself some house-warming presents, and a replacement for the door that Ivana ruined.”

“There's a door in that box?”

“A replacement. It's the best I can do; we can't go to my house and switch doors, anymore.” Her ears lowered somewhat, and Burner reached across her shoulders to comfort her.

The recirculated air conditioning broke Scarlet's patience and her tact. “Sixty seconds cooped up in here with it and the car already smells like we're in a coop.”

Joe leaned over and sniffed Burner's extended arm. “I don't notice anything. I mean, that's just what a blaziken smells like, right?”

“Actually,” Burner admitted in a weakened voice, “the doctor brought it up when I got my clearance. I'm slightly more—uh, ‘acrid’—than normal, but he said that it's common for blaziken sharing my biological profile.”

Scarlet melodramatically covered her nose with a napkin fished from the center console. “Ain't that a relief? Bad genes means he just smells like filth but isn't transmitting it.”

Joe leaned toward the middle. “It's not my fault. Every new store I've been in I've checked for shampoo for bird pokemon. Everything they have says it's not for use on pokemon with feathers.”

Another bel quieter, Burner continued, “I rinse myself often. I like water.”

A bel louder, Scarlet continued, “I don't know which disappoints me more, Joe. That you gave up on him instead of getting the job done, or that he didn't realize it and found the right stuff for himself.”

James activated a turn signal and pulled over. He turned off his car's ignition. “If you were a man, I would literally throw you out of this car and leave you to walk home. Do you understand me?”

Scarlet nodded.

“I don't have a problem with my son making new friends at school. I want to see that. But I am not going to tolerate this shit you are pulling, pretending to want to be Joe's pseudo-girlfriend whenever it's just you two together having fun, but turning into a snot when Grace or Burner or Alice are around. I'm not going to tolerate you disrespecting my family. Do you understand me?”

She spoke low, near a whisper but somewhat broken. “Yeah, I understand. But, I don't agree.”

“You don't have to agree. You have to apologize.”

Her eyes widened. “Apologize? To a… fine. Burner, I'm sorry I admitted that your bird stench makes me want to vomit. I'm sorry th—”

The door locks' solenoids beat strongly as James pressed a button. “Get out. You can walk home from here.”

“My bike and stuff is at your house.”

“Then you can walk to my house and get it before you go home, or you can go home and have your parents give you a ride to pick it up.”

“You can't throw a kid out on the street like this!”

James lit up a cigarette and blew its first drag in Scarlet's direction. She coughed. “Burner, lean forward between us.”

Alice shifted to her left to accommodate, pressing Joe near the door and cramping them both against her box. Burner was not sure what he was actually being asked to do.

James took another deep pull. “I won't literally throw you out, but I'm not going to be driving anywhere as long as you are in my car, and between Burner's bird stench and a new pack of menthols, if you really are distressed by the air in here, I think you'll let yourself out.”

Scarlet clicked the window controls but found them to be subject to a driver's override. Next, she clicked her seat-belt release. “I'm telling my father about this! Then you'll be sorry. He's a very powerful man, you know.”

“I'm getting used dealing with the very powerful kind of man. Send him over to get your stuff. I'll be happy to meet him and tell him what a brat he brought up. Enjoy the fresh air.”

Burner reached around the passenger seat to pull shut the door that Scarlet left open as she stomped down the sidewalk.

After James' sedan pulled back into the roadway, Alice reversed the angle of her lean. “Burner, I like how you smell. It makes me remember good moments.”

Burner replied in their natural tongue.

Joe adjusted Alice's box to ride more comfortably. “Dad… uh, thanks. I wanted to get onto her about how she was acting to them, but I didn't want to screw up my grade and—”

“To hell with your grade. Family comes first. I know you haven't had much of one to worry about but you added to it and that's your responsibility. She was right about one thing, though: you did give up on finding that shampoo or whatever it is. We're dealing with that, now.” James changed lanes and turned at the next intersection.

Burner mumbled something too low to be heard.

* * *

  
A knock at the door startled Grace, who was struggling to nap but completely unable to find peace. She teleported near the door and opened it, revealing a familiar flygon.

“Deliveries for Mr. James Rainier and Miss Gr—ah!”

Marianne appeared out of nothing, wrenched two packages from the flygon's grip, while quickly spouting, “I'll be taking that, thank you; sign for it, Grace, no questions.”

* * *

  
“Do you do exotic pets here?”

A groomer with a colorful mohawk glanced away from a poodle he was shaving. “You could say that.”

“Good,” James continued, “wash this. Straight water showers aren't cutting it.” He snaked an arm behind Burner's waist and pressed him forward.

Lamont continued styling the pooch. “We don't usually do birds except for shows, and Ocimene pokemon are pretty good at washing themselves. What's wrong? Can't bust a lice outbreak or something?”

Burner looked down more because of a sense of shame than because of his height. “I don't have lice, but I do smell.”

Lamont beckoned Burner with a finger to approach. The poodle became nervous and barked a few times. Lamont brought up some of the feathers from Burner's mane. “Smells like blaziken. A little strong but that's normal for males when they want to find a hen to screw.”

Alice jumped and dropped a business card she had lifted from the front counter.

Leaning over for a better view and noticing her ribbons, “Or when he's found one and she's been holding out on him.” Lamont emitted a sarcastically wide-mouthed coughing laugh. “You can't wash that out until you take care of the root problem. Then you wash his root.”

James interjected. “Look, I don't know anything about this except that there's supposed to be a special powder soap for feathered pokemon and my son can't find it so we're asking you to wash him up. If you won't, we'll take our business elsewhere.”

“If you want me to fix a big tub and shampoo him, I can do it and make him glossy like he's set for a show, but if you just want to cover his scent and get at anything water's missing without trashing his feathers you can do it yourself for one-third the price if you buy and apply some Eight-P yourself.”

“Eight-P?” James asked.

“Yeah. You know.” Blank stares abounded. “Pretty Pidgey's Perfectly Perfumed Pest-Proofing Plumage Powder. Hardware stores carry it, usually in between the rat poison and the bug bombs.”

The Rainiers and Alice turned to leave. Lamont added before they were gone, “Get some rubber gloves, safety glasses, and a mask while you're there.”

* * *

  
Grace, supine upon the couch, continued shouting at the ceiling above her. “What are those things, Marianne?”

The ceiling again refused to answer the question coming from the love-seat below. “No questions!”

Grace raised her arm, drew near again the broom, and finding it not long enough to tap the ceiling from where she lay, forced it upward telekinetically.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock—

“Cut it out!”

“What are those things, Marianne?”

A tendril swept through the ceiling, knocking the broom away. Next, a book emerged and fell upon Grace. She flinched but caught it with her mind before it struck her. Opening the book, she found it to contain explanations for slang, phrases, and idioms. It also contained a small piece of paper tucked in a pocket glued to the last page, reading: “I'm sorry about your mother. — C.V.”

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock—

“Cut it out!” whined the ceiling.

“That's not me,” Grace informed Marianne as she rose from the love-seat, striking her head. When Grace recovered her senses, she realized that she was in a very warm environment. It was not completely dark, but there was no artificial illumination. She reached around herself, found the beam, and tried to get up carefully. The ceiling was far too low to stand beneath.

Marianne flipped a page in a white photograph binder with a soft, padded cover. Aside from daylight trickling through vent grilles, her jewels contributed additional light of a crimson cast. “Good choice head-banging the collar tie. If you'd missed and kept going, one of those protruding shingle nails would've put an extra hole in your head.”

“Wuh… where am I?” Grace looked about, finding insulation, trusses, dust, a bundle of silver wire, boxes, a ghost, and an empty bottle of glue.

Marianne flipped another page. “You're in my bedroom. Uninvited, I might add, and interrupting my ‘Me’ time. Were you hoping I might not notice and you would get a chance to dream-eat me?”

Grace crawled across a platform of plywood. “You didn't bring me here?”

Marianne cast the photo album aside. “What reason in any of the nine Hells would I have to bring you up here? Let's try the opposite. GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” Marianne rushed Grace, ensnared her, and flung her through the plywood and drywall beneath her, into the living room. Grace broke her own fall with levitation and shook her head to clear it, casting calm-mind on herself.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock—

“—AND ANSWER THAT DOOR!” Marianne added.

Grace opened it, sensing Scarlet on the other side.

Scarlet seemed distracted by something, as her tone was neither evasive nor antagonistic. “Oh. You came back already. Look, my bag is in Joe's room. Let me have it and I won't be bothering you guys again.”

Grace drifted aside. “Why don't you come in?”

“I don't think I should.”

“Please?”

Scarlet entered slowly.

Grace shut the door behind her and checked Joe's room. Their project was almost complete, but Scarlet apparently decided that the labels on the board needed to be upgraded. Otherwise, all that remained was writing a script for their presentation. That could be done over the network. When Grace returned with Scarlet's backpack, she refrained from surrendering it. “Miss Foley, I want to know what's wrong.”

“Nothing. Everything is fine. Gimme that.”

Grace drifted from Scarlet's reach. “No. Not until you tell me why you hate us.”

“Then I'll leave without it.” She tried, but could not, unable to open the door more than a few inches before Grace forced it shut again with a telekinetic pulse.

The gardevoir drifted near to her. “You can show me, if you don't want to say.”

Scarlet turned, saw Grace's rising hand, and fell against the door. “No, no please, don't. Stay away from me. Don't, I don't want to, not again,” Scarlet burst into tears and slumped into the corner by the front door's hinges. She covered her temples with her hands.

Grace knelt before her. “I won't hurt you. I don't want to do this, but I have to know. I can't keep doing nothing.” Leaning forward, the girl screamed as Grace's palms touched her. A chill passed through both of them, and froze their motion.

“Scarlet,” a purple haze voiced as it faded into visibility, “let her see what you let me see in your nightmare. She does need to understand.” Marianne faded away.

Reluctantly, Scarlet lowered her guard.

* * *

  
“Eliminates outstanding infestations of all lice, mites, and other nuisance parasites that may affect feathered, plated, and scaled pokemon. Leaves your pokemon's feathers smelling fresh and looking shiny for up to ten days. Read all instructions before use. Do not re-use container. Do not rinse out container. Do not pour into drains. Do not use more than the indicated amount at a time. Instruct your pokemon to keep its eyes shut throughout entire treatment. Do not inhale powder. Do not mix with any other chemicals. If used inside a bathroom, rinse all surfaces thoroughly after use. Do not store near shampoos or other cleaning agents. In case of accidental ingestion, induce vomiting immediately and contact poison emergency services. This packaging is biodegradable and environmentally-safe.” Joe turned the canister around and continued reading.

“Her bike is still here,” Alice noticed as they pulled into the driveway.

Shambling out of James' sedan, the Rainiers and Alice carried their purchases up the walkway and opened the door. The first thing they saw inside was Marianne hovering, holding a tendril before her mouth, and hissing a faint, “Shhhh.”

Burner and Alice went directly to their room, glancing at Grace and Scarlet sitting together in a synchronizing position on the love-seat. Joe carried the pool supplies through to the backyard. James shook his head and went to his room to change into more comfortable attire.

Soon, the doorbell's chime broke their concentration. Grace attended to the door, but Marianne already made off with the delivery, leaving Grace little to do but to sign for the package, much to the flygon's relief.

Scarlet went to the pokemon room. “Uh, Burner?” She captured both Burner's and Alice's attentions. “I'm sorry. Really. I was—it wasn't personal, I mean.”

Alice abandoned her box and approached Scarlet hastily. “It was personal, very personal. You weren't just rude today; you hurt him. You don't like his scent, you said your peace, fair enough. But you didn't have to pile it on like that.”

“I know.”

“Also know this: our sense of smell is stronger than yours. In that car, we were trapped with three of you. In fact—”

Burner placed his claws on Alice's shoulders. “You don't have to pile it on like that,” he said to them, before adding a comment understood by Alice alone and then another addressed to Scarlet, “I will make efforts to be less objectionable, and I accept your apology, Ma'am.”

Alice's ears had shifted from aggressively back to ashamedly lowered and she muttered something in reply to Burner's reminder.

Scarlet turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway. “You aren't the objectionable one.” Seen out by Grace, Scarlet slung her bag over her back and got onto her bicycle. Taking a detour she went not straight home but to Rennin's pokemart and purchased a re-chip, just in case, when her mind settled after her experience with Grace, she found it to have changed.

Confronting Joe in his bedroom, Grace asked, “I don't know how this goes. Should I be the one to talk first?”

Joe was trying to find a way to carry the science project display without risking dropping and damaging anything. Especially the atom that wanted so badly to ionize. “I'm sorry I bossed you around, Grace, but I didn't want to see you fighting with Scarlet, even if she started it, and… and you scared me. I've never seen you like that. Even when you do that when you fight, you never look so… so mean.”

Grace drifted inside and perched on the foot of his bed. “I never felt so mean. I was ashamed, and angry at you. I know, you have to do your school project because you're a human and you do these things because they can't T.M. everything you need to know into your head. I accept that there are a lot of things about you that I have to accept to be with you the way I want to be with you, someday, because you are worth it; but the things she was saying to me and doing to me, and you just let her do it. Remember when we were in the gym, the day Burner evolved, I told you that I wanted to evolve so I could protect you when you needed me? I need you to evolve so you can protect me when I need you. I wasn't in danger, but I was being hurt. I know, I've been training you to stop worrying about me getting hurt physically, but when I get hurt emotionally, it gets me right here,” she watched herself as she placed a hand on her front horn, “and I can't protect this. I have to rely on you. We put our faith in you.” She looked up to Joe, “Please, don't betray us.”

Joe let his props fall aside and stepped up to Grace. He wrapped his left arm around her and placed his right hand atop her hand and horn. “I didn't do it right, and I'm not sure how to, but I'll try to do better next time.”

A tear emerged from Grace's right eye, and she spoke faintly. “That's all I ask, Master, and that's all I need, Joe.”

After a moment they loosened their grip on each other. Joe began, “So, where did you go when you left?”

“A very strange place. Here, let me show you.” They settled upon his bed. She reached for his temples and recalled a select series of sights. As she released him, she admitted, “There were some other things that I did, but now that I think about it, I might be embarrassed to admit them to you; at least, right now. I—I am embarrassed. I can't believe it; I want to keep a secret from you.” Her gills glowed with a powerful blush and she twisted away both to evade his glance and align her antennae to minimize their reception, as futile as that action was at a range of one meter.

“Grace, you didn't show me anything.”

“What?” She twisted back in a flash. “There was the beach, the jungle road, that lugia in the market—”

“I didn't see anything, Grace. Try again.”

Action repeated, result same.

“What? Okay, what about this?”

Grace attempted to share her banging on the ceiling to pester Marianne.

Joe tilted his head slightly. “Do you need to go to the pokecenter? If we hurry we can get there and back before it gets dark.”

“Wait, one more.” She projected herself leaving the kitchen with drinks. A ball flew out of Joe's room, bounced, and scanned her. She stood bemused for a moment, placed the drink tray on the bar, and levitated the ball to her hand. It was Burner's. Slowly she became suffused with a boiling fury. With deliberate steps she approached Joe's room. Second guessing herself, she stopped and sensed the minds within. Instinct won out. She began levitating and pitched the ball into the room. When it bounced off of Scarlet's head, she spat, “Gifref flus cakgyy ello hurs, neki!” After that, the scene faded into darkness. Joe remembered his side of the rest of it, at least.

“Well, I saw part of that, but it got weird after you threw the ball at Scarlet.”

Grace let her arms drop to her sides and laid back, not much caring about her dorsal horn. The bed gave a little, at least. “Okay, whatever. Maybe it's best if we just forget about the whole thing. Just tell me: you did miss having me around these last few days, right?”

“Days? That was yesterday.”

Grace sprang up partially, ensured there was no wooden beam before her, and then completed her rise, her hair somewhat disrupted. “Then… but Marianne said… Ghost!” She left Joe's room and got the broom. Joe followed behind her as she found the right spot of the ceiling.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock—

Marianne sank through the ceiling face-first and bit the end off of the broomstick. She chewed it, somehow, very loudly. Swallowed into her bulge, Marianne licked her lips. “You're going to mess up the plaster if you do that with a splintered stick, you know.”

“You said I was gone for at least half of a week, but I wasn't. What were you doing?”

Marianne lowered. Her jewels sparkled brightly. “I don't know what you mean by that, but surely I've been doing the usual ghost stuff. Haunting, absorbing life forces, saying ‘wooo-ooo-ooo,’ hiding socks so one comes up without a match—”

Gesturing with the splintered broom, Grace warned, “Ghost, I don't want to but I will fight you if I have to.”

Marianne slapped the broom away, lowered herself, and turned to face Joe specifically. “I think you need to take her into your room, shut the door, strip that rag off of her waist, and—”

James emerged from the hallway's corner.

Marianne looked at him with a smirk. “—and molest her until she screams for mercy! Then, redouble your efforts.” She soaked in Grace and Joe's reactions.

Placing his hand on her hat, James forced Marianne downward a few inches and turned her to face him. “Do you really need to be advising my teenage son to commit indiscretions with his pokemon?”

“You got a good grip on my head, J.R., push me a little further down and I'll show you a zipper trick that only a ghost can do.” Marianne spun with a flourish as he shoved her away. “Okay; saving that for later.”

James glanced at Grace and Joe and the broom as he passed by. “Whatever is going on in here, please, calm yourselves.”

Marianne drifted along behind James and followed him into the kitchen. “Don't be a hypocrite. He's almost as old as you were when you and his future mother were releasing each other's stress…”

Grace let her shoulders droop. “I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know where I am, I don't know when I am, I'm not sure who I am sometimes. I don't know what's real.” She turned toward Joe. “I want to sleep. No dreams, no being weird places, no waking up in the attic. I just want to, to let go of all this stuff I'm carrying.”

Alice, having emerged from the pokemon room, took Grace's left hand. “You need two things. First, a massage; and second, you need to sleep in your ball.”

Grace began voicing a protest.

“No, really. I know you don't like being in there, but you said it yourself. You need to let go. You can pick up what you still need to carry once you feel better.”

With a grunt of assent, Grace drifted into the pokemon room. Burner handed her Alice's ring cushion to accommodate her ventral horn while she laid herself flat, before returning to re-arranging things in the room to better accommodate Alice's new presence.

Joe asked Alice, “Is that going to work? Sleeping in her ball?”

Marianne's voice, cast in an affected accent, blared from the kitchen, “ ‘Oh, Jimbo, oh, that finger is magical!’ That you-and-her-at-the-public-pool-when-you-thought-it-was-empty memory dream. Do you want his development to become stunted?” Her voice attenuated to normal levels as she continued until it no longer distracted people in the living room.

“I think so. There was a time when I had really bad dreams and Daddy holding me wasn't enough and I had to sleep in my ball for a while. The first time it was because we almost got caught and thrown out of a motel because he sneaked me into a human-only room. I grew out of it eventually and then there was a thing about bad ball chips so he started avoiding putting me in, but I'll always remember how feeling numb seemed better than feeling bad; how it got me through the roughest spots.”

“Seemed?”

Alice's ears drooped. “Once you're not feeling so bad that feeling numb feels better, you'll regret choosing the numbness. But you get over that pretty quickly because then things get better.” She grinned and left him to tend to Grace's needs.

Burner emerged as Alice entered. “Joe, can we try that powder now?”

“I guess. I wonder which is worse, that stuff or the pool chemicals.”

Burner slid open the patio door. “I don't have to close my eyes when I'm in the pool.”

James halted them with his cough. “Burner, go on out, get the hose or whatever you need for that.”

He nodded.

“Joe. After discussing it with your spectre, I just want to make it clear that, ugh, God.” James' face slipped into his elbow-propped palms for a moment. “You're a young man now. During this summer, your voice changed, you outgrew half of your clothes, you began your journey by calling out one of the most powerful men in the region, and you've learned the light and dark sides of pokemon ownership, especially particular kinds of them. That means you are going to be responsible as a man for your decisions from now on. I'm going to respect them, and I'm going to hold you accountable for them. Now, if you and Grace are going to… okay. What you two decide to do together, that is your choice, but your choices determine what is and isn't going to be part of your future, and everything in your future is going to become your past, and there's no changing that. If you aren't absolutely sure yet, don't do anything with her that will make her think that you are. If you two can handle being together, in—that sort of way—you have each other's lifetimes to figure it out. You can afford to wait until you have the life experience you need to choose right. That's why society puts age restrictions on driving, drugs, and dirty films. Got it?”

“I think so, but more than that: ‘Until each of us is wholly doubtless.’ ” Joe departed, leaving James wondering where that phrasing came from.

Marianne became visible again. “See, that wasn't so hard; although you forgot the part about him being able to ask you anything, man-to-man.”

“I'll try to get that across next time. God, I just implied to a teenager that he is capable of knowing for certain a decision about his entire life. They never are.”

“They think they are, though.” Marianne giggled in a girly fashion.

James re-palmed his face. “What's worse is they still aren't when they're old enough to realize they weren't but not old enough to know that they haven't changed yet.”

Marianne drifted alongside James and rested part of herself on his shoulder. “I remember when Harvey had that phase. I can't say I noticed when it ended, though.”

“I think it ends roughly one second after you pass the point of no return.”

* * *

  



	20. Exposures

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 20: Exposures.

* * *

  
Not awake enough to realize that if he were fully awake he would be sure without questioning it, Carlos spent a moment wondering if he was awake, asleep, or still in an altered state of sub-consciousness. His transition to wakefulness completed instantly when the ceiling above him shook with a powerful beat. Something large landed on the deck above him. He flinched and tried much too late to protect himself with his arms. One, pinned between his body and the crevice of the booth seat that he lay upon, proved numb and unresponsive. His other, having been dangled over its edge, sprang up only to strike the table along its way. Cursing with abbreviation, Carlos became sensible and used his left arm, despite its dull pain, to assist himself up. Looking around, he saw a paper sack, some candy wrappers, and a cup quarter-full of now-flat fountain soda on the table. Sliding out, he wiggled his toes and shook his right arm, transitioning it through amusing limp dangling, annoying prickly tingling, and in a half-minute or so, restoration of faculty. He slipped on his shoes and partially tied the left one before his right arm gave any useful aid, but once it awakened, in a flash his shoes were fast and his hair stroked into something moderately presentable.

“Surprise, Uncle Gil!” he felt, projected boldly and carelessly from above. The Sphinx lurched a little as the captain's control was momentarily disrupted. Carlos filled the biggest mug in the cabin with ginger ale and staggered out onto the deck. Gil was invisible, occluded by Junior who was “helping” to steer and wearing Gil's cap. Glancing beyond them, Hollingsmoth Island appeared distant as the yacht approached it, full speed ahead.

“Hey, Kid,” Carlos began.

Junior turned is long neck behind himself quickly enough that the hat fell off of his head and he abandoned his duty to snatch up the mug and down it like a shot before giving Carlos a hug, briefer and less affectionate than the one previous but no less strong or salt-watery.

“Did you enjoy your vacation?” Junior asked as he let Carlos loose.

“Vacation. If you mean being off the mainland, I want nothing more than for it to end. If you mean spending a month on those islands instead of this one, whatever. Islands are islands; there ain't much to say about them.”

Gil asked Junior to hold the wheel, reaching down as the lugia passed to recover and replace the cap where it, for the time being, belonged. He took out his metal box and prepared his pipe. “Don't try pumping Mister Velasquez for information on where he went. Your father handled the debriefing.”

Junior vocalized a sour groan.

Carlos rubbed his face and re-stroked his hair, blown about by a gust of sea breeze. “I don't remember seeing him. But—” he realized that he did not remember much of anything.

Gil enjoyed his smoke for a moment. “The Gatekeeper takes his job seriously. He's a wild lugia, you know; he grew up around here and inherited his role. He never really cared much for people, either, so his technique is a little brutal. That's good on the way out, but not really needed on the way back. That's why the Keymaster's supposed to handle returns. But, she's on vacation—to the mainland, I think; ain't you jealous?—so you got Sinalom both ways.”

“I got him both ways? He got me both ways. No wonder it feels like I've been turned inside-out.”

Later, passing the outer buoys of North-Tip, Junior surrendered the wheel and the hat and squeezed into the cabin to re-fill his mug a few times. Gil asked of Carlos, “Do you have any business to take care of on H.I.? We can shove off again after next bell if you're in a hurry, but your room should still be booked, so if you want to kick back for a while, I've got nothin' that can't wait a day.”

Carlos's first impulse was to proclaim that the sooner would be the better, but through the fog of his manipulated memory, he remembered a promise that he made months before. Honestly he would rather avoid making good on it, but if the only memory to stick with him was that of a broken promise it would make for a hell of a souvenir. “Actually, I think I do. Two hours, just to be safe?”

Gil smirked as he began his approach. “If it's going to be more than two hours, I'm going to get into some trouble. Make it four, just to be safe.”

Junior emerged. “I think Mom's here,” he projected as he crossed the deck. Seconds later, the largest, by a little, lugia that Carlos had ever seen burst from the water, flew in an arc over the docks and shoreline, landed near the entry of the general store, and snaked her neck through the entry doors. She might have been able to get part of her body through them if she tried, but there was not room inside for much more of her anyway. “Mom didn't sense me,” Junior continued. “She isn't focusing, so she's furious about something.”

“Is that the kind of trouble?” Carlos asked of Gil.

“No, sailors like the kind of trouble that leads to fights, not executions. That said, I better take care of it first-thing, and you better walk the other way.”

Gil hastily docked The Sphinx and all disembarked. Gil and Junior waved goodbye to Carlos as they went west toward the store and Carlos went east toward a tiki bar. In a familiar manner, the radius of the mother lugia's projections increased over time and became omnidirectional.

“I sensed him becoming sick. I trusted you to take care of him. You drugged him, didn't you? Where is he?” She shook the windows with a bellowing snarl accompanying her telepathic rant. Her eyes practically glowed and entranced the merchants who were fully at a loss.

“We told you, he's fine,” asserted one. “He went swimming a few hours ago.”

Her eyes flickered and her feathers rippled like a wave as her muscles tensed. “Sure he did. Then why did you want a garbage can for him? For the leftover parts?” Despite knowing that their thoughts' failure to incriminate them ought to be the shopkeepers' acquittals, that such could be their plan only angered Joan further.

The merchants' clothing fluttered as she took a deep breath, sucking much of the air out of the building and creating a violent whistle as outside breeze rushed in through the gaps between her body and the entry doors' frame. They felt thankful that her hyper-beam would be a relatively painless way to go.

Gil walked along the front of the building in the narrow path between its glass windows and a large wing lying flat on the ground. He reached his right arm upward, running his fingers through the sleek feathers of the lugia's neck. She twitched with a start, snapping shut her jaw and spilling from her mouth a strange energy that was accumulating therein, and busted out some ceiling panels when by raising her neck in surprise she thrust her cranial prominence through them. She withdrew her neck, staggering backward and whipping her tail in the air violently. Although Gil had not moved an inch, her interest did not focus upon him but rather her offspring who stood a dozen meters away as Gil had instructed him to. Gil knew the Keymaster well enough to expect that she would—.

The Keymaster dove to the ground again. This time, not to serve as interrogator, judge, and executioner, but as a protective mother delighted to see that her life's work was unharmed. She wrapped him in her wings and shook the ground with something similar to a happy bird sound, but far more primal in timbre. After giving them a moment, Gil approached, and before he could say anything, a flick of her wing drew him into the protective wall of feathers around their embrace. The two lugia communicated for some time before the Keymaster released either. With a little reluctance, she left them to return to the store. Again kneeling and injecting her neck, and with a little negotiation, squeezing the greatest of the digits of her left wing in through the gap as well, she abused her power a little to telekinetically draw the merchants close and nuzzle them both between that digit and her snout. “I was misled by a false vision, somehow, and I overreacted a little. My fears have proven unjustified. Please, accept stewardship of him again when I ask it of you.”

“Our pleasure,” replied one merchant weakly, half out of breath from the pressure that Joan applied to his body. “We're happy to help,” replied the other with the air that she pressed out of him when she squeezed harder, her delighted response to the first agreement. Then, releasing them, she gave each a kiss with the tip of her tongue and withdrew.

“ ‘Our pleasure’?” asked the second merchant, incredulously.

“ ‘We're happy to help’?” counter-asked the first, accusingly.

The two became momentarily shadowed again as the large lugia eclipsed the sunlight while passing their store's front glass in departure. A smaller lugia waved to them with its wing and projected, “I'm sorry Mom was annoyed because I wasn't here when she came back. I'll visit you soon; get more of that ‘root beer’ stuff!”

A broken fluorescent tube fell from its fixture and shattered into more pieces near the merchant's feet.

Carlos twitched and turned when he heard a dull bump sound beside him. A flaaffy had placed a blender upon the tiki bar's counter-top and spoke while wrapping a pair of leads around his horns.

“Pamtre Chilan Chill-out, coming right up.” Sparks arced wildly while the flaaffy scooped some ice from a small freezer beneath the counter. He added a few cubes at a time between chunks of berry.

“Is my credit still good, Lloyd?”

“Your credit is fine, Mister Velasquez. Don't worry. I've got connections, you'll get your bar tab in the mail.” The flaaffy increased the juice, causing the blender to vibrate, squeal, and emit a cautionary scent. The power soon ceased. Then, a glass appeared on the counter-top and acquired the last few ice cubes which crackled faintly as Lloyd poured the drink over them and finished it with a quick blast of pure grain, a paper umbrella, and a novelty straw bent into many loops. “I guess this is my last pour for you for a while?”

“I hope it's my last forever.” Carlos took the drink with a rudely rapid grab and sipped it savagely. Seeing Lloyd nod and turn away, he coughed a little, speaking slightly before his sip finished descending down his throat. “Hey, that wasn't nothing personal. Come to the mainland and I'll be your first regular. But shit, I've had a headache since the day I came to this island. I gotta go home—anywhere but here.”

Lloyd returned and snacked on a remnant of the pamtre berry whose better half went into the drink. “It's not so bad, here. I guess if the climate disagrees with you, that's just how it is, but I can't imagine going back.”

“You're from the mainland?”

“Worse. I'm from Johto. I was caught by a kid, trained long enough to evolve under him, but he spent some time in Goldenrod. There, he met a trainer with a jolteon, and seeing how much faster they are than we are; the hour a day that used to be spent helping me practice became an hour a day at the game house. Soon, he had what he wanted—an eevee bought with prize coupons—and turned me loose. I had a few masters after that. I'd get caught, I'd let them catch me without a fight, and fight for a little while, but… that seems to be our role: we help new trainers get through that second stage when you're willing to take anything to get to six, and into the third where their favorite or favorites become what matter and the others are there to help cross terrain or just filling space until something new comes along. Eventually, I wound up near Olivine. I sold my wool a few times to get some money; I don't know if you know much about the other regions—”

Carlos nodded dismissively.

“—a pokemon with money, or an interest in it, isn't very common. Of course, they just assumed that my trainer sent me to sell it, and I didn't hint them otherwise. Anyway, one summer day I'd bought a big drink and I was playing with the cup, flipping it around and stuff; an imitation of the stunts a juggler was doing to get people to throw coins in his hat. He noticed me between tricks and approached me. I stopped, but he told me to continue. I dropped it a few times but he'd just smile and hand it back. After a while he asked if my trainer taught me that, and I shook my head no. Then he asked where my trainer was and I shook it again. He asked if I wanted to be his, to learn some tricks and keep him company. Pooling our money, we got a cruise ship ticket for one without a damage deposit. He trained me throughout the ride, not in battle like the trainers would anywhere on the ship that wasn't explicitly off-limits—I don't think any of them got their deposits refunded—and by the time we landed in Hexyloxy, I didn't drop the cups nearly as much. We became official Ocimene citizens and traveled around for a long time doing street shows to fill the hat and once in a while we'd make up a new name and get booked for some small variety act or a fair. He put the speech T.M. on me as an anniversary gift of sorts, and we landed a real job: bar-tending. We could show off some fancy tricks to keep the patrons amused when it would improve the tips, and it paid a lot better than fancy begging on street corners. That lasted a couple years, but he got a call. His mother had fallen ill so he went back to Johto to help her. I didn't want to go back, and practically couldn't. Now S.T.M. positive, they'd sterilize me if I wanted to move back permanently, and he didn't know how much of his help she would need or for how long. So, that was that; life goes on. Eventually I decided I needed a change of scenery, learned that my kin are endemic to Hollingsmoth Island, and made the jump. I never looked back, and I would rather my family here stay ignorant of the downsides of city life than give them an explicit reason to better appreciate our paradise.”

“And you never evolved again. I guess, because you quit battling?”

“I'm ready for it, but I've never needed to so I've resisted every time I felt it coming. I tell myself it's easier to juggle and tend bar with this shape than the next, though I'm just used to it and already got everything custom built. And, my mate is an ampharos, so I have her get things off of the top shelf for me,” he added with a bleated chuckle.

“Tell me, what do you think about a pokemon that wants to leave this paradise? Ignorant and ought to be corrected, or let it go and let the chips fall where they may?”

Lloyd finished the berry remnant. “It's paradise for me and mine, but it's not for you, and might not be for whatever pokemon you're talking about. Things want to go where they need to go and suffer if they're restrained.”

“Not always. I've seen men and 'mon walk into the jaws of death on a pursuit.”

“As have I. But never by going where they needed to go. Only where they chose to, for poor reasons.”

Carlos finished his drink. “Do you think my credit's good enough to rent a buggy on a lying smile?”

Lloyd rummaged in a small tin and put a bank note on the counter. “Go where you need to go.”

Carlos thanked him with a nod and left the tiki bar behind, following along Route 3 and passing markers 41 and 42. He visited the small hotel that accommodated all visitors to the island, and indeed his room waited untouched and still available. He declined its service, but received a small note that arrived in the mail for him. He opened it and began reading its message. It was a form letter. “Dear Sir or Madame: We regret to inform you that an incident has occurred and one or more of your pokemon left in our care have been involved—” Carlos wadded the notice and its envelope into a tight ball and threw it into a plastic palm tree's pot in the corner with a sharply vocalized “Fuck!” as he stomped away.

Piloting a rented buggy at an unsafe velocity, Carlos quickly cut a chord from the northern shore to near the south-east-by-eastern one. There he slowed down and came to a stop at a small home near the beach. A woman emerged behind a vulpix that dashed out swiftly when she heard the buggy approaching.

“Mister Nice Guy came back!” spouted Sasha as she bounded into the vehicle and licked Carlos's face.

Shannon lacked the overt excitement that the pokemon expressed, but was not displeased to see him, although his timing could have been better. “I didn't think you would come back. You told me you didn't want it.”

“I didn't either, and I didn't, but I changed my mind, unless it changed its own.”

“No. In fact, the little guy has been nagging to be trained more so he'll be able to fit in with your other pokemon once you take him home. As I said, I was doubtful, but I guess it's better that he didn't listen. Come on in, I'll put him in his ball.”

Carlos exited the buggy and carried Sasha inside with him. “I guess Ree's still at school?”

“Of course. Don't you know what time it is?”

Carlos glanced toward the sun after leaving the buggy. The way he felt, the sun must have been traveling at half-speed to tease him. Sasha leapt down from Carlos's arms once they all were inside. The vulpix dashed ahead of Shannon to give the other pokemon the news a few seconds earlier than they would learn of it otherwise. As Shannon disappeared into another room, Carlos commented, “I hardly know what day it is.” That was a lie; he actually was not sure at all, and glanced about for anything that might show today's date.

Shouting through the walls, “Well, I won't kick you out if you want to wait and say goodbye in person, but…” Shannon trailed off suggestively.

“No, I won't linger. Just tell her and Lennon that I didn't leave without thinking of them.”

Shannon emerged from a back room with a ball to hand Carlos. A swablu flapped around, following her into the living room. “Here's yours, and that's hers behind me. Rhiannon named her Adrina and started teaching her scales. Don't mention the name of any cliche kids songs or she'll sing it for an hour.”

Sasha hopped and placed her fore-paws on Carlos's left leg. “We said goodbye, but Adrina's going to be a little lonely now. You won't let him be lonely, right?”

“I told you when we met these two, I've got a couple pokemon of my own already. He's going to have new friends.”

Shannon noticed a catch in his voice. Sasha did not, yelped with a nod of approval, and stepped off of his shin.

Carlos reached the front door before Shannon called out to him. “Hey. I know I said it before, but I have to again. Thanks. You didn't have to help them.”

“Who else would have? I was just passing by, and there wasn't anybody else driving around.”

“Lennon would have brought her back safely. Rhiannon gets ideas sometimes, like that helping the altaria will make them lose their hatred for humans here. As you saw, it just makes them more suspicious. If it became a serious battle, Lennon would have carried her back, kicking and screaming that she was about to break through to them. It wouldn't have been the first time. But, I am curious how you got them to stop defending those two swabs so you and her could take them for treatment.”

Carlos sighed. “I brought my darts with me.”

Shannon's expression shifted. “You're a ranger?”

“Not even close. I was a poacher, once, but I like to think those days died with my partner. The old ties keep getting cut, and I wonder what'll be left when they're all gone.”

Carlos returned to the route and with a little time to spare, returned to North-Tip. Glancing around, he noticed that a sign reading “gone” rested on the tiki bar counter, and the store was shut for a late lunch. Carlos realized that he would have to get used to stores keeping regular hours again once he left island life behind. Approaching the docks, he noticed a man, neither young nor old, holding a small object wrapped in plain kraft paper.

Nearing where The Sphinx stood vacant, the fellow standing about hailed Carlos. “Are you waiting for a boat to the mainland?”

Carlos nodded, but hoped to avoid further conversation.

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

“What kind?” Carlos grumbled.

“It will sound stupid if I explain it.” Carlos faced away. “I had a strange dream last night, and this morning, I felt like I needed to send this somewhere. If you'll take it—”

Carlos looked at the object. “What is it, and where?”

“It's a book. And I don't know where. In the dream, I gave it to a pokemon. A beautiful gardevoir, with brilliant green eyes and horns, like emeralds. The shiny kind, with that soft blue hair that's strangely deep in the shadows but brilliantly bright in the light. Uh, okay. I don't know why, but when I woke up this morning, I knew I had to send this book to her somehow.”

“Shiny pokemon. I've met the kind of people who care about things like that. They're shit-heads.”

Daniel's body tensed. “Oh, I don't. I don't know why the one I dreamed about looked that way. I don't really normally, but… look, I'll give you,” Daniel slipped the wrapped book beneath one arm, opened his wallet and counted out all the notes it contained, “a hundred seventy-five pounds if you'll take this book and promise to give it to the first shiny female gardevoir you can. Okay?”

“With a good lead on where one's at, I could bring you back the first shiny female gardevoir I saw—bound, gagged, and doped up for another twenty-four hours—for a couple hundred pounds.” Carlos took the money and the book. “But without a good lead, no promises. My business doesn't usually include hunting owned pokemon.”

Daniel refrained from asking what kind of character this man was. “I don't want to know if you ever find her. I just gotta get this nagging feeling off of my back.”

Gil emerged from somewhere neither Daniel nor Carlos saw, well-dressed in clean, different clothes, and walking with the aid of a cane and a grimace on his face.

“All aboard.”

Carlos asked, “Are you okay?”

Gil looked back, “I found the right kind of trouble, but I threw my back out. I'll be fine once I'm on the water again.”

“Wait,” Daniel asked as Carlos began away, “you seem to know your pokemon. Gardevoirs; are they really all they're cracked up to be?”

Carlos stared at the man for a few seconds, until prompted to respond by Gil's ejaculation of relief as he sat beside his wheel, felt some vertebrae click back into place, and prepared his pipe. “I've never lived with one, but I guarantee, of all the crap stories they put in the pokedex, that bit about them being willing to die to protect the ones they care about is perfectly true.”

Soon, The Sphinx was again underway. Carlos kicked off his shoes and squirmed into the booth seat. He noticed a bowl on the table surrounded by empty wrappers and an empty, Junior-sized mug. Amid them lay a piece of paper. Unfolding it, it bore the emblem of the supermarket chain that the general store was affiliated with, and written upon it was, “Secret. Don't tell Uncle Gil.” Then, as the boat shifted in the water, a pokeball in the bowl rolled up its curve and made its violet and magenta shell be known.

“Oh—shit.”

Carlos sat nervously during the entire ride to Hexyloxy Harbor, expecting at any moment for the entire yacht to be slammed down into the ocean by a force intending not to impress, as it was when the Gatekeeper did it, but to immerse. He prayed whatever relationship the Keymaster and Gil had, it would be enough to again stay her wrath.

The attack never came. The Sphinx docked safely. Carlos left the cabin with a paper bag in one hand and a paper-wrapped book tucked inside his jacket's internal pockets.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Gil called out.

“Oh. Uh, thanks for the ride, Captain.”

“That's just the job. I'm talking about his mug.”

Carlos suppressed his reaction.

Gil shook his head. “It's good for unlimited free refills at Pokemart shops across the region, and he'll happily bankrupt them with it. Now that the Keymaster's calmed down and got her head where it belongs, she figured out Junior's plan not long after he hatched it and she let me in on it. He also left a feather on my deck as evidence. Don't tell him we know; that'd take the fun out of it for him. Just remember, if something bad happens, Momma's going to be on her way in a hurry. Make sure you aren't responsible.”

Carlos went in once more to get the mug and left The Sphinx behind to enter Hexyloxy's maze of sprawling industry. He kept its radio tower before him as a guide until it led him to the immense pokemon center that served much of the city, although Hexyloxy had grown so large that smaller satellite centers existed in four places along its perimeter. The doors opened for him with a musical chime and a recorded voice that welcomed him. The lobby was expansive, inset into the floor on both his left and right. He approached the counter and nervously set two pokeballs on it. “I need a new T.D., and to register these two pokemon.”

“Right away. Do you care to purchase a premium model?” the attendant asked, after noticing that one of the balls was a master ball and assuming that he must be an experienced trainer to have either earned or afforded one.

“Uh, a good one, but nothing too fancy. Are there any old or used models on sale? Here,” he put one of Daniel's twenty pound notes on the counter, “the best that that will buy.”

The attendant's eyes bulged when her terminal showed what was in the master ball. “Wow, congratulations, Sir,” she said with a hint of anxiety in her voice, “you enjoyed a clean capture, I hope?” With a touch of a few buttons, she quickly brought up the harbor's police news feed on her terminal just in case a warning of a very angry and very large lugia might appear.

“It just kinda happened.”

His business with the attendant concluded, Carlos looked around again. The center was fully loaded, and with some cash in his pocket and no desire to accelerate his approach to deal with the letter, he took his time. He visited a communications terminal. There were no messages except for an electronic copy of what came by paper mail. He deleted the message without reading it. He sat for a moment in reflection and came to a decision. He stood, stepped to an open area, and released the contents of his master ball. Junior licked his face immediately while privately projecting, “That's so they know you're with me.”

Carlos wiped his cheek and forehead as best he could. “Junior, I've got some shit I have to take care of, and I want to take care of it alone. Here, I got your mug and Gil said they'll let you drink for free—”

“They won't stop me.” He glanced toward a small food court north of the lobby's west half and licked his chops.

“—right, and here's a little money. The pokemon food is free or cheap at these places, but I've had it a few times when things were rough and it's practically punishment so get something decent while we can afford it.”

Junior took up the money with a pinch of his wing digits. “They won't be happy if I eat their food without giving them this, right?”

“Right. Did your parents ever explain money to you?”

“It's trash paper and metal bits that humans will trade useful things for because other humans will trade useful things for the same trash later.”

Carlos patted Junior on his shoulder. “Close enough. Play nice and don't make them want to stop you.”

Junior nodded and approached the food court, his stomach's rumble suggesting a clearing of his way and alerting all that had not yet noticed that they were in the presence of a rarity.

“Like I could afford to feed a dragonite on my budget, God makes me responsible for that belly.” Carlos passed through the lobby, not noticing a pale young woman lying on a couch, wearing a skirt whose fashion passed years ago and holding tightly a cerulean purse bulged slightly by a pokeball within.

He traversed the streets until he found the city's day-care and breeding center. He needed a few deep breaths before he could bear entry. At the desk, he rang a bell, and waited impatiently until a familiar face appeared. “I'm here to pick up my black ribbons.”

“Velasquez, right? We're very sorry. There was a mix-up with a new employee, and he put some of the wrong pokemon together. Specifically, we had a Kanto arcanine sent here for stud service and—”

“My dogs!” Carlos shouted, with as much commanding firmness as he could muster despite emotion striving to shatter his voice.

“But instead of the breeding pen he was let into—”

Carlos leaned over the counter, “Shut the fuck up, you stupid fucking idiot, and give me their dead fucking balls!” and half-collapsed onto it.

The staff member had retreated by a step, but did not flee. “Your dogs fought him bravely, and probably saved a few other pokemon's lives. Rosa's flash-fire ability protected her, but Ruby, already crippled—”

Carlos sobbed through his words. “Ruby isn't crippled. She's fine. She just spent that leg protecting me. She's… how many lives do you think she saved?”

“Three.”

“Four for four, then. I guess—” Carlos snorted harshly, “—more would be too much to ask.”

“Our management has arranged a compensation package for you. We know that a life cannot be replaced, but we wish to do what we can to pay respect for the loss.”

Carlos hardly heard what the clerk was saying, but looked up with a cross glance at the word, “respect.”

“We offer you one of your pokemon's unhatched offspring free of charge, a reimbursement as breeding service was part of your service compensation contract; and a rare equipment item that is difficult to acquire in Ocimene. Although it is a matter of chance that we can offer it to you and your surviving pokemon, we hope that these will help you through this painful episode in ways that monetary compensation cannot.”

Carlos glanced around for a tissue, snatched one from a box halfway behind the counter, and blew his nose. “They make you memorize shit like that?”

The clerk nodded gently. “I will bring you your pokemon now.”

“Keep the egg, but I'll assert naming right. It's ‘Ruby.’ If a prospective buyer can't accept her namesake, they can fuck off.”

The clerk nodded gently, left the desk, and soon returned with a houndoom. “She evolved after the battle. That's not supposed to happen here, but—”

Rosa walked up to Carlos without any energy in her body. He knelt and hugged her. She whined a whimper, long and somber.

“Then it will be the jewel and a monetary compensation.”

Carlos withdrew and held up his trainer's device, not releasing Rosa, for the clerk to take and scan. As Carlos exited, the clerk recited another stock phrase, one required by the position but in bad taste. It fell upon deaf ears.

On the way back to the pokecenter, Carlos found an express shipping depot and put the paper sack in their care. Remembering spontaneously to his own surprise a shipping code, his parcel's fee was pre-paid. They passed the parcel off to a flygon, and away it went for next-day delivery before Carlos even left the counter.

A small crowd, composed of almost the entire patronage and much of the Hexyloxy Pokecenter staff, gathered around a table at the food court. In fact, the only person whom Carlos saw elsewhere aside from the desk nurse was the pale woman wearing a dress in the farthest lobby seating. Her face was covered by a broad-brimmed sun hat and she clutched her purse to her chest as though she had something to hide. Being unable to make out any other details, Carlos was reminded that he needed to replace his lost-abroad contact lenses. A strong projection demanded that the group make a hole for “my best friend, Carlos Diego Ortega Velasquez de la Isla Antigua!”

Everybody looked his way except Rosa, who was immune to Junior's effect. The sun hat rolled upon its rim for a couple meters. A chair telekinetically slid out for Carlos's benefit.

“Any change left?”

Junior projected privately, “When I ran out of money and food I told them I would go and look for you so we could leave town. They gave me more food so I would wait for you and they could see me more.”

“This is going to be a thing I'm going to have to deal with, now, isn't it?”

“What?” Junior asked while munching on a levitated hamburger.

“Celebrity. You drawing crowds everywhere we go.”

Somebody in the circle admitted, “Can you blame us?” A couple photos were taken. One was snapped every few seconds on average. “Everybody knows lugia live near Hexyloxy, but it's been years since anybody's seen one in public like this.”

Another on the other side of the circle added, “And a young one. Once the news gets around, tourism will be up again. Our economy is saved!”

“Hear, hear, three cheers for Lugia!” cried out a third and most of the group joined in.

Engaged in one-sided small-talk with his choice of legal guardian, Junior lost the intense interest of the group. Most stayed near, buying meals to excuse sitting nearby, or collected at the lobby seating nearest to the food court to keep seeing, to keep believing. Carlos introduced Junior to Rosa and gave him a short and partial version of their history together. Junior's demeanor shifted sharply when Carlos admitted that Ruby was in his pocket, in a ball bound with a black ribbon.

“I'm sorry that she was not able to tell you how happy she was to see you.”

Carlos recalled a conversation they shared a half-year earlier. “Rosa isn't happy to see me.” He looked at her, motionlessly watching over the lobby people's activities. When she was little, she'd be up in his lap, or desperately trying to be, hoping for a chance to get a bite of his food. “I don't think I could handle both of them like that. It's almost like it was for the—” Carlos coughed a morbid laugh, “the best.”

Junior licked around the inside of his mouth, top and bottom, clearing it of any remnants. “I don't think she will take my word for it, but she may take yours. Tell Rosa that I am going to do something to her that is very uncomfortable, but she will not be hurt.”

Nearly verbatim, Carlos repeated Junior's message, adjusting it a little. She gave a reluctant growl at first, but when Junior draped his left wing over her and his right over Carlos, Rosa became more worried about what the strange creature might do if she angered it. It took some time, but with a little strain and a little leverage, Junior broke through, not unlike cracking through the defenses of a master ball. Onlookers recovered their interest but by the time they noticed that the lugia was doing something, he was done.

Carlos almost fell out of his chair and Rosa's body trembled for a moment, Junior's forced intrusion nearly foundering her. The two looked at each other for a moment until the after-effects dispelled. Then, Carlos slid his chair back, Rosa jumped up, planting her paws on his thighs and licking his face a few times.

“I'm surprised that worked,” Junior admitted to himself, projecting nothing.

To become somewhat more incognito, and to delay the next time when Junior would get hungry, Carlos recalled his pokemon. He returned to the service counter and asked if they had any open trainer lodging available, and the nurse put him down for one, from 20:00 to 08:00, reveille at 06:00, breakfast included in the nominal cost served at 06:40. He took his key-card and went into the other wing of the lobby, finding a television airing around-the-clock news. The time was 7:42 P.M., so the hostel wing was not yet open. He took off his jacket and wadded it up loosely, placing it beside, and slightly upon, himself, in memory of how Ruby would rest alongside him. He did not notice a pale figure that crossed both lobby wings to address him. He did not even look away from the screen when he heard her ask, “Carlos Diego Ortega Velasquez—what do you know about my mother?”

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Carlos turned and faced her, dumbstruck: Gardevoir, beautiful; eyes, green and brilliant; horns, like emeralds. Hair… the man on the docks now seemed a little more eerie.

She continued when she sensed his reaction pass. “I know that I know you. I don't know how, or why, but I do. I knew you would be here. I came a long way, from Rennin.”

Carlos opened his mouth to speak, but Grace spoke for him.

“The last time you were in Rennin, you had a bad time.”

Grace's facial expression shifted together with Carlos's.

“I—I was hoping that wasn't right. But, it's all coming together in reverse order.” She sat across from Carlos, a coffee table between them. The man was unsure what to say, if anything, and waited for her to continue. “I had a vision. It ended with me being here, at Hexyloxy Pokecenter One apparently, resting in this lobby. Anyway, I came here after riding on a boat from an island south of here. On the way, I met a man: you. You called yourself Diego Ortega at first, but later admitted your name was Carlos. I guess now I know the whole thing.”

“The boat was named ‘The Sphinx,’ wasn't it?” Carlos whispered.

Grace winced and continued. “I met you in its cabin, you were passed out on a wide seat with your shoes off. There was a paper bag on the table beside you.

Carlos did not react.

Grace felt him not reacting and continued. “Before I got on the boat, I met a flaaffy who serves drinks near the docks.”

“Lloyd,” Carlos whispered.

Grace winced and continued. “And, at the store where they have a radio to talk to the boats, there was a big white pokemon, kinda like a bird, that got sick from eating too much.”

Carlos gestured toward Junior's ball, but Grace raised a hand, “I know. With all the commotion he caused I was already half-awake, but when I heard your name I woke up fully and saw him. Before that, I met a guy who lives on the island, and he let me have a book that—”

Carlos unfurled his coat and put a wrapped object on the table. “I never met that guy before, but he gave me this, which feels like a book; an exact description of you; and he told me to give it to you if I ever saw you.”

Grace shuddered. “In my vision, when I was here, I woke up remembering that I left the book behind. Then, in a second vision that I thought was real, it was delivered by an express carrier.”

“Light Parcel Express: Anything a flygon can carry, from coast to coast, overnight, guaranteed.” It was not quite as snappy without the commercial's jingle behind it.

Grace reached toward the book, and telekinetically drew it within reach. “The book in my vision had a note in it. It said, ‘I'm sorry about your mother,’ and it was signed, ‘C.V.’, and since we've connected every dot but one,” she let her sentence trail off meaningfully and gave him a meaningful glance as she gripped the book tightly, as though she wanted to both protect it and crush it.

Carlos rubbed his brow, having broken a sweat, and whispered again. “Are you going to kill me?”

Grace was taken aback, “No!” she projected to avoid drawing attention, “I just want to know why.”

“Because there is a lot of money to be had.”

“Stop,” she winced, “not that. I know that part. I've felt the thoughts of people who look at me and see me as that; as money and as corruption. I've seen what they will do to gardevoirs—”

She felt his reaction although he was trying harder than ever to remain unread.

“—and I'm not holding you responsible for that, even if that could've happened to me if I hadn't been saved, although now I know that you were aware of what you could have made of my future. Just, tell me why you would do it, and don't say it's just for money. There are jobs; you're a human, you can do anything you want for a living. My sister struggles to get a taste of the privileges you humans have. I don't think there's a single job that you could get that she wouldn't take, gladly, that you chose being a poacher over. Mister Velasquez, please, tell me, why did you chase us through the forest, and why did you kill my mother? I know it was you. After it happened, I went to that place, I felt the residual energy, I synchronized with it, I know you were the one who stabbed her.”

Carlos hid his face behind his palm for a moment. She stared at him, resisting with all her resolve the urge to pry. She did not want to hurt him—but she knew that she would not let him go until she got her answer. He asked, “Do you have a place to stay, tonight?”

Grace's lack of a reply answered for her.

“I've been through a lot, today. You said you saw me in your vision; did I seem to be in any better condition?”

“Other than a headache, I would say, yes, but in the vision, I did not feel your emotions being this… muddy.”

“Would you let the me in your vision have a couple hours to settle before answering your question?”

“I've followed a guide that I don't understand, but if waiting a couple more hours is part of this path, fine, I'll wait, just a little.”

Carlos watched the television and its clock as it slowly counted to twenty-hundred hours. A public address announcement confirmed that the hostel wing was now open. Carlos left the lobby and Grace followed behind him. The nurse shot Grace a look, Grace turned and shot one back. The nurse turned away with a blush.

Neither spoke again until Carlos settled into his cot and, as best he could with an anxious gardevoir within emotional radius, relaxed. “We weren't supposed to bring any weapons. But, I figured I could ditch the knife if we got made, and I didn't want to be un-armed. And, if I wasn't armed that night, Rosa and I would be dead right now.”

Grace listened silently.

“Killing her wasn't part of the job. Killing never is. But if a pokemon makes it a duel, then that's what it's gonna be.”

“Duel? You call chasing a wild pokemon until she's about to drop dead from exhaustion a duel?”

Carlos wanted to say something, but he was not sure how to phrase it.

Grace sensed something, more precisely than she could have had he said it. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because you would sense it if I were lying.”

He felt Grace's shifting emotions. He remembered feeling a gardevoir's emotions shift like that before, and quickly gave this one a topic to focus on.

“You think you're right, that money isn't an excuse, but it is. Tell me, what did you do to earn the money in that purse you're holding?”

Grace hesitated. “I took this money from my trainer, but he said the money I earn in battles is mine and it's in his account, so really I just switched that for this. It just means what I spend of this comes out of that.”

“You've never earned a dime, Toots. You've never done work and had your boss walk up to you, put money into your hand, and say, ‘Thank you. You did a good job.’ ”

The gardevoir's expression turned sour. “Every time I win a fight, Joe tells me that I did well, that I earned my prize, that I made him proud. Even if he speaks words that say that I don't need to fight or I shouldn't be getting roughed up or that he doesn't care either way. He tells me with his heart.”

“I'm not talking about friends or family. They care about you anyway. I'm talking about somebody who doesn't give a damn about you; for whom you're nothing but a payroll entry. Yes, I was a poacher. What I did was terrible for some of the pokemon affected by my work. I may be an agent, but if I didn't do it, somebody else would have, and you can't eat a moral victory. You can't wrap yourself up in virtue in the dead of winter after your landlord changes the locks. I kept the heat on, I kept my dog fed, and until she came after us, I never killed a pokemon.”

Grace did not care to see it his way, but she did wonder, “She came after you?”

Carlos scoffed. “That wasn't in the psycho residue your kind likes using to leave notes behind? We chased her well into the wooded block. Then, when we realized the sh—that you were gone—we turned around. That's when she teleported back, blocked us, and started throwing things around. Not just breaking the tree branches and bringing them down on us. She found some stuff to use as weapons. It was an ambush.”

“But, why?” Grace whispered, feeling ill after the thought that her mother had such malice within her.

“She decided that she'd rather kill us than let us turn back and have a second shot at finding you.”

“I can't believe—I thought she died for me, but I didn't think she killed for me.”

“Along the way, Ruby stopped me and pointed out a bedroom of one of the houses. I looked in, saw a kid sleeping. That was the Joe you mentioned, wasn't it?”

Grace nodded. “Must've been.”

Carlos re-positioned himself on his cot and sighed, remembering the brief and indecipherable exchange between Ruby and the green gardevoir shortly before they retreated without further molestation. “You've got an idea of the worst that can happen to a poached pokemon, especially a gardevoir, especially a shiny. But that's as rare as it is horrible. I've been to Well's auctions. Most of the pokemon he deals in go to affluent people who pamper them. If anything, they'll want for nothing but the excitement of a normal trainer's journey. Is being Joe's domestic pokemon partner, all that gives you and all that leaves out of your reach, worth the lives that ended that night? You probably would've wound up living in a mansion doing maybe two hour's work a week as a hostess and spending the rest of your time floating around in a big swimming pool or practicing playing the harp or something else snooty like that.”

Grace glanced away at the wall. Hostel rooms were spartan and narrow, two meters wide less the thickness of the wall, which thankfully wasn't much. Grace reached up and pulled down a second bunk, levitating to lay herself upon it. After sharing a bed proper with a stranger before, even if it was but a vision, taking the top bunk did not seem like an impropriety. “I hope so. There's no going back. Was he a good man, the other poacher?”

“He was a man. That judgment you speak of was made by God.”

“Did he have a family?”

“I don't know. Probably. We were familiar through the profession, not personally. We didn't talk much about ourselves when we shared a job, but when an opportunity would come up, he'd make an odd phone call. The single guys don't do that, the married ones do sometimes, the married ones with mistresses always do.”

“I guess I can't blame only poachers for destroying lives, then.” Grace shifted and whimpered; the cot was very stiff and gave no allowance for her horns. She rolled onto her side.

“You can blame, but then you have to stop blaming and either forgive or forget. If you stay on blame, it never stops hurting. What happened to my Ruby was the fault of the pricks at the day-care, but they were just doing their jobs, badly for a moment, but as long as I blame them then that's what I think of when I think of Ruby, and that's not what I want to think of. I want to think of her life, right up to her last moment that Rosa remembers and Junior helped her to show me, and nothing else. So, between that table and the help desk here, I decided to forgive them. Not forget, but forgive.”

Grace hoped that she could do both. “Wait, I'm confused. You said that you and Rosa survived, but Ruby tried to tell you where I was—and now you say that something happened to her at the day-care—”

She heard a thud as he struck the weak wall with a balled fist.

“—but I remember from the vision my mother left that there were three dogs. This doesn't add up. Was Rosa in a ball?”

“Rosa was in her mother.”

Grace gasped.

“Did that clear something up?”

Grace could not speak, so she instead projected, “Everything.”

Both she and Carlos slept dreamlessly through the night.

* * *

  
Standing before Hexyloxy Pokecenter One, Grace watched Carlos and Rosa walk off into the crowd and vanish. She held her book, still wrapped, with her purse and looked about herself. She was alone. She had followed back the path, and she felt like she had gotten what she came for, but truly there was still something more to it. She walked south until she reached the harbor docks that ran east and west as far as could be seen, populated by boats ranging in size from massive cruise ships at one end to a fellow in a rowboat gliding along at the other. She looked out over the water. She knew the island was out there, and the next step of the backtracking path. Everything else was somehow true, so Daniel must be out there, too. Why not visit him? She had already come this far. Maybe go to marker 1–1 and see if there is a tree with a hole punched into its trunk that perfectly fits one of her horns, the one that interrupted her spinal column. Perhaps she would even find again that entity, that strange face both light and dark and there and not and the massive form that it took when it appeared before her on the beach when it created that hole. Grace closed her eyes and thought about it, about being there, about how badly she wanted to figure out what she wanted to figure out. A strange sensation washed over her, not unlike what she felt when she levitated or when she teleported. It was like both, together, but it was not coming from within. It was coming from—.

Grace squinted and looked to the horizon. Although invisible, she felt like she could see a point of light, a point of dark, a point—.

Anyone observing from the seaside would have seen a strikingly blue gardevoir standing on a dock vanish and a faint white trail of disrupted water extend in a straight line from where she stood to a spot on the horizon. To Grace, she saw nothing as she quickly clenched her eyes shut. The sound of wind blowing across her gills was nearly deafening, and only in that they were exchanging gasses for her did she not expect to suffocate as she was being pressed through the air with such force that she could not breathe with her lungs, no matter had her torso ten times its own strength.

Her velocity slowed gradually and when she felt her fabric dress settle and touch gently her legs under a cool breeze she opened her eyes and saw it. Well, it was not merely a face, light nor dark, but the outline of the form was that of the entity. Only with this perspective did she realize that it was the same form as the little creature she met named Junior but on a larger scale and in a different pose.

The Keymaster asked with an annoyed tone, “Why do you keep contacting me? And, how? You use her voice but you are not her. Explain yourself.”

Grace stuttered a little, intimidated by the power that this creature had. It emanated a psychic energy stronger than anything Grace ever before felt. Glancing around, she was nowhere near any land, and it clearly required no effort for it to keep her suspended in the air, even forgetting the force that brought her this far out to sea. “I don't know what is happening to me. I don't know who or what you are, really. If I did something, it was an accident. I—I just want to go home.” Grace could not clutch her purse and book more tightly, but she tried.

The Keymaster glared at Grace. “I am going to investigate you. You will feel it. You will not die. Do you understand?”

Grace nodded helplessly. The sensation was intense. Grace appreciated the reassurance that she would not die from this experience. It took some time, because when Grace realized that she was conscious again, the sun had moved in the sky.

The Keymaster spoke with a sympathetic, but disappointed, tone. “You have allowed a xatu to exploit your mind.”

Grace nodded affirmatively as though that statement were a question.

“That was not wise. They meddle. I viewed many of your memories. Some have been sealed away by the xatu. I don't know why it did this, but it did so to thwart my investigation.”

Grace nodded affirmatively, caught herself, and shook her head. “Wait, it knew I would come here, and that you would read my mind?”

“It also knew how to make me think that I could get around its seals, wasting my time, patience, and energy.” The Keymaster's telepathy wavered near the end of her statement, either to convey, or because of, that exertion.

“Is the xatu why I keep seeing someone—another gardevoir—in my dreams, telling me about bad things happening in the future? I can't see the future in visions but it seems to give me them.”

“No. That entity is a gardevoir, but I cannot identify it precisely. It is familiar to me somehow, and it is the one that speaks with her voice, through you.”

“Whose voice?”

“Your mother's. Our paths once crossed and she asked a great favor of me. I felt a compassion for her cause that I would have been wise to suppress, but I aided her anyway. That effort was in vain. I do not know where the gardevoir that you see comes from, but you are not possessed or haunted, it is not a xatu or other Psychic-type influencing you, and most importantly, I see no malice toward you in its nature. However, I do believe that it may not share your goals. If it returns, do not refuse to hear its message, but realize that the consequences of its will are yours to bear.” An uncomfortable silence held for a moment before the Keymaster continued. “And, one more thing you must know before I send you back: If you meet Simon face-to-face again, before you do whatever the situation and the anger inside you compels you to do, ask him to let you see the day that he retired from the League. He will let you synchronize with him to see it. After you break contact, then you may do whatever you feel that you must. But—”

Grace's vision became distorted, the sound projected into her mind seemed to echo ominously, and her body itself began to feel like it was being slowly and carefully stretched and crumpled and boiled and frozen.

“—Do not exploit his mind during that connection or cause him any harm before you witness that memory. If you do, I will destroy you. Estranged as we are, he is still my original trainer and thus part of my family, and I will not tolerate anyone taking advantage of any one of them through treachery.”

Grace had no opportunity to agree to Joan's terms before being traveled back to the docks. No longer interested in following back the trail, Grace fled.

* * *

  
An eerie familiarity swept over Grace again, this time as she entered Hexyloxy Terminal. The voice on the public address was the one in her dreams, her nightmares. The people were thinking the same thoughts. Feeling the same feelings. Not exactly—each was unique—but in whole, in average, the same. She approached a ticket counter, specifically a window with an image of a pokeball illuminated on a sign above it. “I want to go to Rennin.” She did not see anybody and glanced around for a service bell.

A dodrio raised one head while its other two used their beaks to return scattered wadded papers to a recently toppled trash bin. “West line doesn't go to Rennin. It goes to Nixymyl and Linalool.” The speaking head went to work and another continued, “Linalool's a good choice. You can shop till you're poor and take a bus from there to Rennin.” The third head spelled the second. “You should get off at Buchu. That's a little closer but you gotta go around the mountain. So it isn't any better. Probably worse.” The first head popped up again. “After that the train doesn't stop till Nybomy, goes south from there to Coroxon before coming west again, so that's probably the last stop you might want, if you've got some pokemon business in mind.”

“Linalool, please.” Grace advanced what remained of her money; coins came back.

“Poor already?” asked the second head, “Why go to Linalool when you can't shop? Or afford a bus ride.”

“Riding alone?” the third head asked with a hint of suspicion.

“My—my master is waiting for me in Rennin.”

First clucked with an appropriate timbre for a customer service engineer. “Alright, then. You've got about forty minutes to pass.”

Grace turned around, saw there was no queue behind herself, and turned around again. “If you don't mind my asking, do you have to have three heads to be a pokemon working here?”

“It helps.” “They pro-rate you for the extra hats.” “You don't need three heads but you do need an employed master. Why?”

“Oh, my sister needs a better job, so when I see a pokemon with a human job, it gets my attention.”

“Her, or your, master got her a bad job?” “She should break and find a better trainer or just go wild.” “I have to pick up garbage with my beaks when I don't have guests at my counter. What is she doing that makes this an improvement?”

“She's a masseuse.”

“She touches humans on purpose?” The second head only shook itself. “I have a stiff muscle she can rub.” The first head nipped at the third's neck. “Read my mind, if you can sort it out from my others.” The other two heads removed the hat from the head that spoke last.

Grace concentrated. “No, no. I'm not asking for her for myself, and I do have a master. And he's good. But she doesn't, really.”

The heads re-placed the hat. “Alright. But if she does want to go on her own without being on her own, or getting a ticket to Coroxon, there are options.” “Rennin, right? Waitressing in Rennin pays good if you know where to go.” “Starboard for men, larboard for 'mon!” “That's backward. We do the work, they sit and be heavy.” “It's right from where you come in from.”

The rightmost head laid itself on the counter and grumbled. “Can I be of any further service, Ma'am?” All three heads squawked when the leftmost bit the middle's neck to shut it up.

Grace shook her head and left their argument to entertain the next patron unfortunate enough to be a pokemon needing a ticket.

* * *

  
Grace stayed near the walls, away from foot traffic, and tried not to pay attention to anything. Driven by thirst, however, she felt a need to go to a place she had never before been, but knew well. Approaching the vending machines, she noticed a security guard standing nearby. She recognized his face, although it was obscured by a beard and moustache. She sensed him watching her as she submitted payment to the machine. She touched the button for lemonade, but hesitated. “This machine gives wrong flavors, sometimes,” she muttered to herself.

“Sometimes they do,” commented the guard.

Grace pushed the button. Both watched as a yellow can dispensed.

“Other times it's less interesting,” continued the guard, returning to his duty.

Grace opened the can and drank slowly. Something was on his mind. Something was on her mind.

“Don't take this the wrong way, please, but, aren't you going to hassle me, for being a pokemon running loose in the terminal.”

The guard did not break his gaze from the crowd. “Nope. You have a ticket and you paid for your drink. Psychic-types who try to teleport beyond the turnstiles or cheat the machines get hassled.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Mostly it's the abra-kadabra-'kazams; they think they're so smart. Your kind is usually well-behaved, but I catch one once in a while.”

“I reminded you of that when I came over here, didn't I?”

“Yep. One in particular. She lied to me, straight up. I remember it because that's something else your kind don't usually do. But, I was watching the whole time, and I knew why she lied, so I let her go. After that, and getting the wrong flavor of drink, I figured she needed at least one thing to break her way.”

“He left her,” Grace whispered.

That got the guard's attention. “Are you reading my mind?”

Grace sensed his evaluation of her about to shift in a very big way. “No. I just—”

“Then, how do you know that? I know Psychic-types can pick up stuff when they go somewhere another one's been and used their powers fully, but you can't tell me that you're picking up what happened here years ago by using the same soda machine.”

Grace's nervousness began showing. Letting her purse hang heavily from one arm, she held the soda can before her face, lowered her eyes, and spoke with undue difficulty, “I don't know how I know. Please don't…”

The guard looked back to the crowd. Grace lowered the can and looked up toward him again. He removed his cap and feigned a need to scratch his head, revealing a shiny silver netting within it for a couple seconds. “You Psychic-types are weird. You know that?” He reclaimed his composure. “Get yourself to him, and stay close.”

Grace nodded and soon, aboard her train, she departed Hexyloxy Terminal.

The passenger cars were lightly populated and, per regulation, pokemon without escorts were grouped together. Grace soon sneaked into an unoccupied box and made herself comfortable. Riding toward the sunset, a panoply of colors graced the partly cloudy sky, stands of untouched forest, splendid lakeside homes, and the surface of that massive lake, Nixymyl. Already half-asleep, the rhythmic thrumming of the train car and picturesque view behind the window carried her the rest of the way.

* * *

  
“Understand, I am not happy but you make me do this.” Pierre fiddled with his gardevoir's opened ball. “There. You will stay in this room and be good, no?” He waited a beat to see her response, but she was numb to his words. “Now, I make preparations some more, and when our guests are here, you will impress them with your grace and obedience, yes.” Pierre exited and checked with a hired chef inside the kitchen.

The gardevoir gazed through a large window over Lake Nixymyl and toward the forest beyond. Linalool lay behind one part of it, Lake Muramis another, but between them; that's where she longed to be. Her power began welling.

“He has you,” Fouroughs commented again in his dull, somber, eerie voice.

“I know. He said, ‘in this room.’ You will keep me here.”

“No. The ball will. Your last try at escape upset him. He does not trust you now, even under my eye.”

“Only this room. What about when I defecate?” She imagined planting a fresh steamer centered squarely upon Pierre's grand piano's middle-C.

“Carry the ball with you. It will recall you if you try to leave the ball, or carry the ball too far away. He will prefer that you disobey his precise order to stay in this room than to foul it with your sarcasm.”

Hearing a call for his aid in a matter, Fouroughs left the gardevoir alone. Turning away from the view that tantalized her, the gardevoir circled about the room, feeling caged and uneasy. She ceased her circuits and seated herself upon that piano's bench. Bored by the empty room, she turned about and tried to find amusement in the ivory. Pecking at it spontaneously, she passed time alone till Fouroughs returned. She did not sense his approach, and jumped slightly when he touched her shoulder.

“You are thinking only of pure emotion. To use this machine, you must put rhythm and mystery into the keys.”

“I'm not using it. I'm waiting for Master's next command.”

“It is to wear this.” Fouroughs put within her reach a costume. The gardevoir balked. “It is a uniform so our guests will know your role as a server and not be mistaken.” The gardevoir slumped slightly. “I will wear mine. You will wear yours.”

Standing to take the clothes-hanger from the dusclops, she examined it. At least it was designed to accommodate her horns.

“Your predecessor became adept and played this piano for our master. If you do, too, it will improve your relationship with him.”

The gardevoir struggled a little bit, having worn clothes only once before, and then out of curiosity rather than necessity. “I want no relationship with him. I want to leave.”

“I know. I, too. He has us. We won't.”

Pierre re-entered his great room. “Oh, you two look absolutely marvelous, and you,” he approached his gardevoir and adjusted her uniform slightly as it was not quite straight, “are almost downright scandalous! Now, who was touching my piano when I wasn't looking?” He asked with an accusing, but playful, tone.

Fouroughs sold her out.

“Well, well, mon petit, I give it to your care to use at your will whenever you are not busied with your chores. Now, our first guests may be arriving any minute, so off with you both to the kitchen and learn what the chef expects of you.”

Pierre went about further preparations while his pokemon obeyed their orders.

Within an hour, Pierre's lake-side property became filled to capacity with every important person he knew. Being surrounded by humans inundating her antennae led the gardevoir to seek refuge in the kitchen, specifically by putting Fouroughs between herself and the crowd so his Ghost-type bulk would serve as a screen. Fouroughs grunted with annoyance when she followed his movements. Replying to offer an excuse, she whispered, “They won't stop looking at me; judging me.”

Fouroughs resumed arranging a tray of hors d'œuvre. “You are performing as a bad hostess. Show them that you are happy to serve your masters and mistresses.”

“I'm not!” The gardevoir spoke so loudly that her ejaculation sounded like a bark.

“You project that, that you are not, into them. Then, they are not happy and they blame you. Project happy. Fill yourself up with the glow of a sunny sky.”

“I can't. You do it.”

“My form does not permit smiles, sunny or no.”

The gardevoir shrugged. “I haven't felt like smiling in a long time.”

Fouroughs lifted his tray. “You do sometimes. When you dream, you find something to smile at.” He returned to the party and distributed bite-sized bits of things.

The chef sniffed the air. “Be a doll and flip that meat for me, Sunny.” He was a very darkly skinned man whose blue-collar attire, including a grease-stained apron that told a tale of one million meals, contrasted strongly against the pristine articles that the guests wore.

The gardevoir turned to face him. He gestured toward the stove top. “Spatula's there if you want to do it the clumsy way, but I bet you could put your mind to it.”

“SAAAA—NNNnnn—iii,” the gardevoir said aloud to herself while flipping hamburger patties the easy way.

Jerome passed near her, carrying a bowl of shredded cheese. “That is your name, right? Or, at least how it translates. Straighten me out if I'm wrong, but I'm sure I heard the mummy say part of ‘sunny-side up’ in that poke-nese you all seem to be born knowing, and I'm sure he wasn't talking about the eggs we're fixing up.”

Pierre approached the kitchen and summoned his gardevoir to duty, indicating a tray of drinks that needed to circulate. He entered the kitchen after she glided off. “I'm sorry if she has gotten in your way. She is obstinate and refuses to adjust.”

“In my way? I could serve twice the food in half the kitchen if you brought me another just like her.”

“Another?”

“Yeah, don't be blaming her for not ‘adjusting,’ it just means you and her ain't meant to be in the same house. Nothin' wrong with that. Trade her for another one and keep switching until you find the right one.”

Pierre straightened up, feeling insulted, “I hired you to cook, not for critique.”

“Sure did. But, that don't make me wrong.”

Pierre left his kitchen, looked at his wait staff, and thought for a moment. He could have another one easily enough. Across the room, the gardevoir sensed him committing himself to that end, and shuddered faintly when she realized how he planned to achieve it.

* * *

  
Grace left the southern edge of western Linalool with a small berry in her purse, the last thing what remained of her money could afford. She continued south into Muramis Forest, letting instinct guide her, letting the faint emotional radiations of wild pokemon deflect her antennae, and thus her body and path of travel, like a compass needle. Time and trees passed without much thought until something stopped her. A glint of reflected light; a spark that stole her attention and her momentum. But for that flash it was invisible. She floated back, around, forward and backward again, first slowly then quickly, impatiently. Again she saw it, and now sensible she set a bearing and nearing where its source must be, she let fly a gentle spark by casting thunder-wave upon nothing in particular.

Embedded in a tree, a tranquilizer dart's chassis reflected arcing light.

Grace turned to face the direction that arrow pointed: East, to Rennin.

* * *

  
Despite her nap on the train, which proved not at all refreshing and brought her a strange dream that she did not consciously remember upon waking, fatigue began overtaking her again. She decided to stop soon if she could, expecting to find an old, abandoned cabin ahead. It had served as a refuge for herself and her mother many times when weather turned sour, and if it had not been discovered and re-occupied, or otherwise ruined, she expected it would serve again.

Approaching it, she stubbed her barely-elevated toe upon one of a few broken shingles that slid from its roof over a year prior. Inside, she awakened an ariados, but in offering it a juicy berry, quickly made peace with it. Although the cabin was practically bare, it was shelter. She took off her fabric dress and wadded it up loosely, unsure if she should use it for a blanket or a pillow. Feeling what it had covered, she realized that she no longer needed to wear it for the sake of human modesty; her skirt had re-grown long enough that if anything, she would be seen as fashionable. It was the length of skirt that Scarlet seemed to prefer.

Scarlet. Ugh.

Finding a spot with a hole in the floorboard that her mother once created to accommodate her dorsal spike, Grace laid herself down flat, placed one of her hands on her ventral spike, closed her eyes, and listened to the faint noises of the forest, soaking up the faint vibrations of the whole of life's emotions, thoughts, auras, being—whatever it should be called. The peace and quiet of nature and wilderness felt alien to her. But it wasn't—it hadn't been, before she moved to the big city. Rennin, a big city. Only having been through a progression of population, touring Linalool, Coumarin, and Hexyloxy did Rennin seem as small as human reputation suggested it to be. But, the bigger cities were so noisy that they were a din. Rennin was calmer, she could feel herself moving through it when she traveled to the pokemon center and back, or to the park or wherever. It was home.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of a sudden pop. The cabin always made sounds when the temperature dropped late at night. Startle turned to comfort at that recollection.

Was it home? She had lived in Rennin for a year. She lived in the forest for… many years. Enough that they became indistinct when she tried to count them back. She remembered her mother, the time they spent in the forest, this cabin, and elsewhere.

Pieces began fitting together within her mind.

“Don't repeat her mistake,” Sunny's mistake, urged the green gardevoir. The great lugia tried to help her, but could not. She was—the gardevoir in the train station, it had to be her mother. Her final gift, an overwhelming communication forced into Grace's mind before surrendering her to Joe's care; why give her daughter these memories, no more, no others? Unless—letting him go. Nothing before that mattered, everything that followed, consequences thereof. “That was her mistake,” Grace said aloud, awakening the ariados, to whom she again apologized. Grace concentrated on the memory of the terminal and recalled in vivid detail the same vision she saw in a dream months before. She followed her mother like a ghost as she said her goodbye, got her drink, rode in a van, and was trapped by a stranger. Fragments of other dreams re-emerged and connected one by one.

Grace threw herself upon her feet and burst from the cabin. She looked left; letting her power flow through herself, she could sense the whole of Rennin, like a spot on the horizon. Snapping her gaze to her right, behind a southern peninsula of Linalool, lay Lake Nixymyl. And, upon its shoreline, somewhere, a building where her mother was held. She could not sense that, but she knew it was there.

If this… Pierre still dwelt there, or his Fouroughs, they might know something.

Grace looked toward Rennin again. Her mother was dead, she got away from Pierre one way or another, and it was all after Sunny lost her love, so what good would digging up that relic of the past do her? She had her own future to worry about; not to make the same mistake. Instinctively, she felt guilty. Why did she leave him? Because a brat tried to recall her? Is that all it took to make her make a fool of herself? No, it was after that. It was every day after that. It was that things would never quite be the same as they were. It was that “master” meant two distinct things to her, now. It was that he would not say what she wanted him to say. It was that she wanted to make him say what she wanted him to say. It was that for the first time she wanted to speak with a particular gardevoir and it failed to appear as though it sought to snub her. It was that she knew Carlos was her only lead and that she would find that man in Hexyloxy if she stayed away from home, only for a little while. A day or two. How many days had it been? Years in the forest, days in the forests and cities, the numbers fled from her, causing a frustration that only reflexively casting calm-mind upon herself could dispel.

Then, as she opened her eyes again, two things struck Grace. First, that the green gardevoir, the one that claimed to be guiding her, confirmed to be a gardevoir by the lugia, was still unidentified. But, if it knew Sunny and surely it knew her well, then—Pierre must have gotten another one, another gardevoir. Grace turned again to face eastward. Second, that she herself was absent from all of these memories at the lake home. She started to travel back along the path by which she came to the cabin. She let resolve drive her. “I'm going to find Dad.”

In her mind, she recalled the image of Pierre's dusclops. Inside her imagination, he laughed with a deep, cold reverberation, and then spoke. “You have. Now what?”

She telekinetically snatched a spent tranquilizer dart from a tree as she glided past it and slipped it into her purse.

Meanwhile, within a decrepit old shack, an ariados crossed from one corner to another, took up a forgotten dress, and cast it over its body as best it could. It had always wanted to feel pretty.

* * *

  



	21. Absences

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 21: Absences.

* * *

  
The cookies did not hurt.

“I'm an inspector, not a lawyer. I can't tell you if your plan would fly, but I can tell you that that place needs a lot of work to be declared habitable again. And, even if you can fix it up, it's not like the owner skipped town, changed name, and fell over the edge of the ocean. The bank is just across town. Squatter's rights and adverse possession only go so far.”

The cookies did not help.

“I'm not advising this course of action, but speaking as a friendly potential neighbor, I think you should save up some capital for future improvements and when you're ready, make a shrewd offer to the bank to get it up to code and out of their portfolio, and just let them be surprised by how it somehow got a head start at being cleaned up. The way you're going, you're eventually arguing to the court that an emancipated pokemon ought to be handed real property because she broke in, replaced the carpet, and kept her ears down for a few years.”

Alice's ears folded down and flat as she glanced away from Quentin.

“Having a human speak to the bank for you when the time comes wouldn't hurt, either.”

Alice pulled her legs up into the chair within which she sat and wrapped them with her arms.

“Why do you care about that place, now? You said you needed shelter when you were a riolu; fair enough. But now you've evolved and you've scored a boyfriend whose trainer lets you bake cookies in his oven; what do you want with that dump?”

Alice shifted and returned to a more civil seated posture. “I—. I wanted to show Daddy that, that—he; when he did what he did, it was to protect me. When he gave himself up, it was to protect me. I wanted to be sure that someday I could prove to him that I didn't need to be protected anymore. I wanted to prove that I learned all the things he taught me and put it all to use. I wanted… I wanted to be there when that prison gate finally opens, to take him home, and give him back what he gave me and gave up for me.”

Quentin bit a cookie. “So, if you're with the blaziken's team,” he floated.

“All I did was get somebody else to protect me.”

Quentin leaned in his chair and considered the matter. “Don't take this personally, but I gotta say it: all those things he taught you; some of them might've been wrong, you know? Is he the kind of guy who would be mad at you because of your new family?”

Alice's ears pointed straight-up. “No! He knows about them. He's happy for me.”

“Then forget that dump. Your new team might not want to welcome an ex-con into their home; that's for you and them to work out. But if you're worried about getting him a place when he's released, just save your money—don't throw it into that bottomless pit across the street—and rent something then until he gets on his feet.”

Alice wavered. “You might be right. I'll have to think about it. I have to go. I have some things to take care of.”

“I'm sure you do.”

Alice stepped out of Mister Parente's home and glanced at the decrepit mansion crosswise. She could imagine how it would look after she was done with it. She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply as she walked away, careless of her path. Yet, something about it nagged at her. Unless a bulldozer or lightning strike beat her to it, she knew that her work would continue, someday.

* * *

  
James' pool float was as comfortable as ever, but recently, markedly much more noisy.

“…so it took time to figure out how to do it—the hover thing—and it doesn't go very high but it's enough to keep my scales off of the ground. You don't know what it's like, slithering around on your body like I have to. It makes you sore and then you don't want to move and you don't want to lie because both hurt so you roll on your back and make everything upside-down—” The technical explanation was that Fiona's gills were submerged but her mouth was not, so she never had to stop talking to breathe. “—but we're upside-down right now. I'm upside-down. You're sideways, right? I haven't used that word before. Sideways! Does it matter which side? Or which ways? I don't think it does. I'm thinking of your sides other ways and when I say to me what I would say to you to say what you were if you were that way it's the same way. You can't slither at all because you have limbs. Limps. Limbs. Wait, that's weird. I said ‘limps’ because it sounds like ‘limbs’ because ‘limbs’ is hard for me to say right and I said it a little wrong and I wanted to hear the other one to hear if the first sounded too much like the second, but when I heard me say ‘limps’ I didn't hear me say four limps like four limbs because it sounded like staggering when walking—”

She paused. James took a deep breath and foolishly felt a sense of relief.

“—but I just said ‘four limps’ and that sounded like what I thought I said and why do I have an idea of what staggering when walking is like when I can't walk?” Fiona bent her neck into nearly a loop, holding her head above James' and staring down at his closed eyes. “Four limps. Four limbs. Forelimbs? I don't have those. Are your forelimbs also part of four limbs?”

James did not respond.

Burner emerged from his home. “Joe and I are going to practice at the park for an hour. Do you want to come?”

Fiona ignored Burner for a moment, awaiting James' answer to her questions. “I don't want to come but I will because Master is nicer when I do what he wants and he wants me to keep fighting at the park.” She uncoiled her body carefully such that James would not be simply dumped into the water unexpectedly.

He resurfaced as Fiona pulled clear of the pool and inquired, “Wait, what was that you asked me?”

Fiona glanced back at him sideways. “Never mind. I forgot that… I'm sorry.” She slithered away, around the southern side of the house.

James did a few laps, but soon felt too lonely to care to remain in the pool. He had an appointment to prepare for, anyway. Toweling himself off lightly, he re-entered his home as Alice did, too, through the opposing door. “How did your meeting go?”

Alice approached him and delivered a brief hug. “I'm not getting into trouble, but I'm no further from homeless than I started.”

“I'm going to get into dry clothes. Grab a drink and take a load off.”

Alice nodded and obeyed his command.

James repaired to his room. Clicking locked his door behind himself, he began changing. When he opened his closet, a sudden impact threw him inside it. The door shut behind him and too clicked locked. “Ghost, what the hell do you think you're doing?”

A faint red glow passed through the door, giving him a little more light to see by than the trickle passing through the door's gap. “I think the kids call it: ‘Seven Minutes In Heaven.’ Pucker up, Lover-boy.”

“Ghost.”

“Say my name and say it right if you want me to listen to you.”

“Marianne.”

“Ooookay. We'll have to grunt some clumsy make-out sounds to fool the other boys and girls at this sleep-over, though.”

“What are you talking—never mind, what do you want?”

“I wanted to set the mood and tell you a little story about how much fun I used to have. You see, Harvey got involved in a game of spin-the-bottle. The lucky fuck got paired with the number-one, drop-dead most gorgeous-est girl in school. So, I had a little fun with him in that sorta way.”

James remembered that leaving pokemon hanging during a long pause was not a good idea, but what she stopped upon was not a question awaiting an answer. “Can I go now?”

“Don't you want to know what I did?”

“Can I go now?”

“Soon.” Marianne huffed a tiny cloud of purple haze. “In the end: he thought that he did, I knew that he didn't, she never let herself be locked in a closet ever again, and when you recognize that I wanted to tell you this for a reason, you'll be sorry that you wasted the opportunity of a lifetime. Alone, in the dark, with me, no limits. Be glad you won't live with this regret forever. Oh, on that note, you're switching to the last-chance meds tonight.”

Marianne opened the door and flew through James, hiding among the garments. James gathered proper attire and dressed before a mirror.

As he finished, Marianne within a sweater—that she filled-out with her essence and gave undue prominence to her simulated chest—hovered behind him, pressed against him, and flopped its sleeves around him as though she could hug. “Of course, there's a different kind of treatment that's supposed to cure whatever ails ya. Sure, in clinical tests it's less effective than placebo, but a lot more fun than swallowing a sugar pill for you, and for me, well, let's just say…”

“Do you think that's what they're giving me?”

Marianne re-positioned herself and her tendrils to make the sweater stand akimbo in the reflection he viewed. “You're paying attention to the wrong half of my innuendo. How long has it been, and how much more time do you have?”

James turned about. “How old are you?”

Marianne undulated and snubbed him with a rapidly fluttering blink of her eyes that rolled before she answered. “Twenty-nine.”

James squinted slightly when she glanced back.

“…in ghost years. What's your point?”

“Usually pokemon seem to mature quickly. Burner is nearly literally a spring chicken and he's more mature than you are. What, do you think that playing dress-up like this—” James swatted away the sweater with the back of his right hand “—is going to make me look at you and see some sort of nubile seductress? You're a ghost, Ghost, and even if you weren't, you'd still be a pokemon. I'm not into that, and I'm never going to be. I know you loved Harvey, and in a tiny way I feel bad that he died and made you lonely and annoying. If I didn't know you so well, if I didn't know you at all, I'd probably say you didn't deserve it. But that doesn't mean you can spend the rest of your afterlife trying to find ways to flirt with me. You're here because you're being slightly more useful than you are being annoying. Don't push it. Do you understand me, Marianne?”

Marianne stared at him for a moment, then without breaking that stare, picked up the sweater, returned it to the closet, and returned herself to the place she hovered before before him.

“Do you understand me?” James re-questioned.

She began quietly. “I understand you. I understand you completely. And, because I know you so well, I say right now: you didn't deserve this hand you were dealt. But that doesn't mean you can spend the rest of your life trying to find ways to protect yourself. It's too late for that.” She chuckled faintly and hauntingly. “It's funny since, ‘almost too late at first, simply too late at last,’ is the executive summary of my time with Harvey. Look, J.R., I didn't play dress-up to manipulate you; I did it because I hoped it might make you laugh, or remember a time in the past when you did. That woman knew how to fill a sweater, didn't she?”

James' expression—

“There!” Marianne shouted with a whisper as her jewels flickered once, “That's the reaction I was looking for. Nothing more, nothing less. That isn't to say that, if somehow my cold currents could warm your heart, I would mind. But I've snacked on your dreams, including that one in particular, you know the one—” she winked at him when he suppressed a reaction “—so I know just what a bad situation and what a volume of wine would be needed to convince you to indulge your baser instincts.”

“That was just a dreamt memory of a drunken nightmare. I have no baser instinct to indulge, Ghost.”

“Ooookay. You sure?” Marianne twisted her form into a cliched coquettish pose. “If the lights are off and I warm up first by simmering in the coffee pot for a little while, I bet you couldn't tell the difference.”

“Thanks to Simon Well chasing a ralts into my son's lap, I have enough human–pokemon moral dilemma to deal with already. I'm not going to let you try to drag me backward into another one that never happened and never will.”

Marianne drifted against his upper body and ensnared James with all of her tendrils before rubbing her brim and cheek against his the latter. “Ooh, James. You're so lucky I'm not a human woman, because if I were, I would make your life miserably delightful. And, I would screw you raw every night. I loved Harvey, but he never could take a stand on uncertain footing like you can. I always wished that he could, though, so I would be able to MAKE him submit. Now, I wish that I could be sure we would have more time together.”

“It's placebo,” James despaired.

Marianne squinted with frustration as he continued to neglect her innuendo. “The air in the bottle tasted sweet enough, but I don't think so, because the air in the bag tasted beachy.”

“Beachy?” James tried to separate from Marianne, but she held him fast.

“Beachy. Sometimes Harvey would go on trips overseas. When he returned, he tasted beachy.”

“So, he got to take vacations away from you. Lucky stiff.”

“I—I don't want to talk about that. Just, trust me—”

James scoffed sharply and loudly.

Marianne grunted and continued. “I know it's not placebo. I felt inside the pills, too, and it's something different.”

James again tried and failed to free himself. “Can I go now?”

Marianne reluctantly dispelled her tendrils. “I'll leave you alone for a while. But, tonight I want to talk to you some more; about the second condition.”

* * *

  
Dipping the tip of a needle against a bead of noxious fluid exuded from one of her defensive pores, an umbreon prepared her stylus to apply the final master stroke. After a moment to dry, she slipped a modified identification tag into the windowed pocket of a vest that was perfectly her size. Once she managed to don it, she bravely took to the streets of Rennin. She toured the highlights, sized-up the low-lives, and took mental notes regarding exploitable opportunities: old-model soda machines, convenience stores with inadequate cameras, and alleyways with useful amounts of clutter. Thanks to the college, she found plenty of student housing that screamed, “Take me!” Just out of curiosity, she dashed up to one exiting student and yelped, and without a second thought he held the door open for her. What a gentleman. Inside, she snatched two key cards and mooched a meal from some girls who ordered too many burgers and fries to go with their nutrition studies.

Alas, the whole day spent casing, Idis found no evidence of her quarry. Come nightfall, she turned to the residential area for refuge. Cool winds and obscured skies suggested rain, and suggested that she find proper shelter. An abandoned house would be nice, but abandoned houses are sometimes occupied. So, when she stumbled upon a facade featuring a broken top-storey window and a broken front door window—both shoddily repaired with plywood tacked over the absent glasses' gaps—she carefully inspected the grounds and sought a vantage for penetration.

The balcony doors opened easily and wide. Beyond them lay a rather cozy space. The carpet still had a little of its factory smell left. Letting her rings glow, Idis made a quick tour before heading down the stairs. Strange, how the top floor was an island of civilization. Only by stumbling upon a long out of date phone book did Idis find anything of interest on the ground floor; literally, as it had apparently been tossed aside and left to accumulate dust. She flipped through its white pages with impatient strokes of her left paw until she revealed a street map of Rennin. She immediately knew what she would be studying overnight. On the top floor again, she noticed that the rain was beginning to fall. Unwilling to suffer a water-heavy vest, she ditched her garb in an inconspicuous spot, returned to the balcony, and daringly found her way down. She ran to the nearest corner's stop sign for orientation, so she could find herself on the map.

A bicycle whose rider hoped to get home before the storm arrived came to a halt nearby. “Alright, I promised her I'd try it; get it over with,” said the voice of that rider.

Idis glanced over her shoulder and came to a standing stance.

“Go pokeball!” shouted the nearby teenager.

Idis's eyes opened wide and her rings glowed intensely. Realizing that the data department might have processed her request, Idis prepared to swat the ball away, but its owner threw short and wide and with some accidental english, letting it bounce crooked, activate with atypical timing, and catch Idis broadsided.

The umbreon struggled for a few seconds, but soon felt the ball's energy overcoming her. Refusing to be tamed by simply choosing to stop resisting, Idis relaxed. Shelter from the storm, three hot and a cot, and a base of operations for her continued search were all gainful consequences. She just hoped this trainer would not get too attached to her.

* * *

  
It was a dark and stormy night. In a sleepy little town known only for cheap kegs, cheaper wings, and overpriced public parking, a young man did his homework in a hurry, racing against lights-out to complete a neglected essay. The pressure mounted and his pressure-reliever was unavailable. He needed an elaborate term to satisfy a quota but the chaos in his mind would not settle and permit him recall back to the vocabulary words studied in his literature class. He needed some sort of word-associating device with intelligence—

“Old and wrinkled and like a raisin and—”

“Wizened?” proposed Burner. Joe recognized it as an option and scribbled it on his slate. “Is a wizard wizened? Is that what it comes from?”

Joe grunted his lack of knowledge about those terms' etymologies.

“Fiona asked a lot of questions about words today; I never thought about what words the speech T.M. makes me think of before. Percival seemed relieved after Frankie knocked her out.” Since Joe did not respond, Burner discontinued his effort toward making conversation and re-focused his attentions on his game. Having been gifted a save slot, he had surpassed Joe's adventure, which increased the difficulty slightly since his source of hints and tips was no longer useful. As for that save slot, he regretted not refreshing it sooner, as a nearby lightning strike discontinued electrical power to a number of city blocks, including their own.

Joe's efforts were undisturbed. Burner stood, ignited a wrist for coordination, and exited. James, on his love-seat, also paid the blackout no mind, since his beer did not need to be plugged in. Extinguishing himself, Burner sat beside his family's patriarch.

“It's been a few days, now,” Burner reminded James in a muted tone.

James sipped from his can of beer. “Yep.”

“It's starting to get to him.”

James sipped from his can of beer. “Yep.”

“It's something we should do something about.”

James sipped from his can of beer. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

James sipped from his can of beer. “I never understood women very well. But, I knew when to pay one a compliment and when to leave one alone. Besides, you're better off not getting involved in it. I mean, if he wanted you to go with him after her, do; but…”

“The things she said to him, it was like she was somebody else for a while. It was like she was mad at him for something but neither of them knew what it was.”

James sipped from his can of beer. “Yep.”

“Do you think she is?”

James sipped from his can of beer. “Maybe. That girl knows what she wants, but she doesn't understand how to be patient, only how to try to. I don't know, but it's like she spent her whole life waiting to be assigned her mate and now that it's maybe happened she's frustrated because he still has a few years to go before he'll be ready to make that sort of decision, up or down. I had a female pokemon once, and—let's just say they seem to lose their heads when they get frisky.”

Burner cawed gently with an inquisitive tone.

“For example: ‘Ivana.’ ”

Burner cawed gently with a knowing tone.

“I think he's trained her well enough that she can defend herself, and she knows enough about humans to get along until she gets lonely or makes a big decision. I think she'll come back. She probably wouldn't have taken her purse and half of Joe's cash if she intended to disappear into the Allylidenes forever.”

“Will you tell me about your pokemon?”

“I don't have any pokemon.” All was silent but the falling rain. “Why do you care?”

Burner second-guessed his question, but third-guessed it and pressed onward. “Because, Master James, I am wondering if when he is your age he will still have pokemon.”

James finished his beer. “Like father, like son?”

“Like, I have no other way of guessing any better.”

James glanced backward toward his son's room. The coast was clear, but James spoke particularly quietly nonetheless. “I had a few pokemon, but we never got along well. I'd catch something, train it a little, trade it for another or release it. The only one who meant anything to me was Nelson. I caught him as a buizel, and I guess you could say he became my partner pokemon, although we weren't the kind of close that that term means today. Anyway, he and I spent as much time in the water as we could, and the first thing I did the summer I got my driver's license was head out to Palmitoy Creek, which is really a lot of freshwater creeks and small lakes all within walking distance of the shore. Good sands, great swimming, greater swimsuits. It's a damned paradise. I came back from that trip with a floatzel, a phone number, and a lot of memories that suggested I not lose those digits. Beverly and I met up again the next summer, and we decided we ought to be a thing. The problem was, after our graduations, she was going for a bachelor's degree in Rennin, and I was going to join the navy. I let my other pokemon go, Beverly and I kept in touch, and I learned the tricks of working underwater. When I got out, Nelson had—” James paused; the rain continued to fall, “Nelson had figured out what he wanted to do with his life and I had a different floatzel. Beverly wanted to stay in Rennin, so we bought this house, and got in the family way quick enough. The problem was that Nel—I'd named the new floatzel that hoping that Beverly wouldn't notice the change, and apparently she didn't, which was good because I didn't really want to talk about it—anyway, she didn't get along with Beverly like Nelson did, so I didn't get along with Nel because it just wasn't the same, and after some things happened, I decided that I didn't need to have pokemon in my life.”

Burner reflected for a while.

“But, the problem wasn't Nel, and it wasn't pokemon. It might've been Beverly; it might've been me; it probably was both. Whatever.” James crumpled his beer can in his grasp.

“ ‘It wasn't pokemon’—is that why you are okay with us now?”

“I was never not okay with you. With her, ugh. One of the pokemon I had for a while was a ralts. We didn't get along at all, and I didn't want Joe going through any of the things that little monster put me through. This one has caused him even more, bigger problems; but they're different enough that they aren't as bad. I hope. Last week to now makes me wonder.”

“Joe's never said anything about your floatzel.”

“She doted over him like her own kit, but I took care of Nel before he was old enough to remember her. Keep it that way.”

“ ‘Took care of her’?”

“Not really. I did probably the worst thing I could have done to her. It seemed right at the time, though. Mistakes always do.”

The room filled with artificial light, revealing a purple cloud hovering before James and Burner.

Marianne opened her eyes and loosened her tendrils that had obscured her jewels in the extinct darkness. “Don't think that that satisfies Condition Four; you go through with it.” She floated to the kitchen.

“Not tonight,” James called out to her.

She returned with a can of beer and a can of lemonade, which she gave to James and Burner respectively. “Of course not. The time isn't right.”

“What time is it?” James asked nobody as he sought a clock. “It's past your bed-time, Joe!”

“Five minutes!” he contested.

Three minutes later, Alice entered, her fur heavily weighted by rain. Burner rose to welcome her, but she passed him by, walking directly to the bathroom.

Soon, Joe had turned off his light and shut his door, and James likewise. Burner stood where Alice passed him by, and he listened to a hair dryer filling the silence above the rain's noise floor. Although the darkness was nearly complete, punctured only by light-emitting diodes indicating electronic devices in stand-by mode and an occasional flicker of lightning outside, she felt his aura and walked directly into his arms. Burner lifted her off of her feet and together they passed through a curtain of beads and fell gently onto a make-shift futon.

* * *

  
Scarlet breached high-school table selection protocol and sat with the trainers-in-training. Matthew, being one grade behind—although two years younger—left a void in the traditional array that Scarlet easily filled. The imposition drew attention as her motivations were unknown.

“What?” Joe asked, “Did Mr. Plovo come up with another project and I forgot about it?” He spoke sarcastically, but that was to cover honesty, as his recent distraction created discontinuities in his attention to schoolwork.

Scarlet's face turned almost as red as her hair. “I got a pokemon. What do I do with it?”

Solymar did not care for Miss Foley's intrusion. “What do you think? Feed it, groom it, have it beat somebody else's pokemon to a bloody pulp for fun.”

Terrance responded in a more constructive fashion. “What kind is it and what do you want to do with it?”

“I don't know what kind it is. It's black with yellow circle spots, and has four feet. It's not a Psychic-type, is it? I don't want one of those.”

“You've got an umbreon. They're straight-Dark, which is as far from Psychic as it can be. How'd you get it?”

“I caught it on the streets just before the storm got here.”

Percival glanced across the table. “That's uncommon for a wild catch. A runaway, maybe?”

Scarlet considered that she may have made a mistake. “You can't catch a pokemon that somebody else owns, right?”

Percival replied, “A pokemon that's been in a ball gets an encrypted tagging pattern added to its image. If it's activated, you can't trap them, and until the pokemon is verified on the network to be sure it's available, a ball holding a pokemon with a deactivated tag pattern won't let you lock or leash them. There are black-market balls that ignore the tag and can trap an owned pokemon, like the balls the police have, but only people who already have arrest warrants would use one.”

“Leash them?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, you know.” Lunch continued to be eaten. Percival shook his head. “Okay, there are a couple little pins inside the ball just under the button. You can set those to make the ball keep your pokemon from running away if you catch a wild one that disobeys and might bolt. Basically it will keep scanning on radio all the time and if it gets farther away than you allow it—you can set the range with your T.D.—or tries to get behind something that would block the beam, it will immediately recall them. The problem is doing that drains the battery like crazy, especially if the ball is for a Psychic-type since it has to be monitoring for teleport so it can catch them before they're gone.”

“I kinda wish I'd known that,” Joe muttered.

“You should've known that. It's pokemon 101.”

Scarlet leaned forward a little and addressed her lab partner. “Why?”

Joe refused to answer and occupied his mouth with his meal.

* * *

  
With a sound not unlike the pop of a cork, Idis released herself from the low-strength and technically defective re-chip ball's confines. She shook herself alert and glanced around Scarlet's room. It was that of a soul in transition. Overlooking a row of fluffy stuffed animals with light-toned faux-fur and bright pastel accents loomed four men—or perhaps three and a humanoid pokemon, it was difficult to tell—half-dressed in leather and half-dressed in oily smudges applied by the metal band's photo-shoot director. A row of small books showed a similar shift in taste as Idis studied their titles from left to right and developed a basic profile of her for-the-time-being mistress. “If she has a diary, where would it be?” Idis asked herself while walking a few circles: first, nothing in the open; second, nothing in the drawers of her desk or dresser; third, if she has one, it might be a new habit, like the headbanging music and werewolf tracts—where else do teenagers hide the porn? Idis forced up Scarlet's mattress from the corner that was not properly tucked. Jackpot. Idis pulled from a deliberately and strategically calloused length of flesh on her right front limb a needle with a bent eye, greased it with just a little bit of toxin as a lubricant, and defeated the diary's not-merely-symbolic lock in seven seconds.

Scarlet's diary was maintained once many years ago, then there was a break before it resumed again. The handwriting and tone were both different enough that were they separate books, Idis would have thought them penned by different authors until their content proved internally consistent between the two chapters. Ploughing through it to memorize the highlights, expecting to come back for the details later, Idis bailed out just when things were getting good, as heavy footsteps in the hallway bade her to make things look natural again. She re-locked and re-placed the diary, gave a look to ensure that she left no evidence, and pounced upon her ball, rolling it and activating it so that it would come to rest out of sight of the doorway.

There was no investigation, so she assumed her strategy to be a success.

* * *

  
Scarlet exited Marignac High School and glanced around. Joe, Percival, Burner, and Alice were standing about in discussion. She approached them reluctantly. “Hey… guys.” She accepted Percival's eye-contact when he turned toward her and dodged Burner's. Alice glared without turning her head. Joe looked slightly less her way. “You fight your pokemon after school, right?”

Percival accepted her query. “Sometimes. Usually on Friday we meet up at the game house an hour or so after classes and then move to the park. Otherwise, we play phone tag and see if we can get three or four together.”

“Now that I have a pokemon, I guess I need to train it.”

Percival looked at the other three about him. “Yeah. Plus, it might help to clear the air.”

Burner spoke up. “Did the powder help?”

Scarlet blushed. “Yes. Actually, uh, do you mind?”

Burner nodded faintly and pressed his chest forward slightly. Scarlet approached, sniffed, and came nearer. Repeating that, she came into gentle contact with his feathers, causing him to recall an uncomfortable memory. “Wow. It's—really the same, but it's nice.”

Alice chimed in. “He's mine. Back off.”

Burner said something in his native tongue, Alice replied likewise. After another exchange, he placed a claw on her shoulder and drew her against him for a moment before separating enough that he could bend down and give her a gentle peck between her ears.

Her facial expression was calmed, but still frustrated. “I've gotten a little protective recently. Forgive me; but understand that I have good reasons.”

Percival changed the topic. “Now that that's out of the way, are we going to make it a park day or what?” His question pointed at Joe, who remained distant.

“If A and B want to play, they know they can. I've got homework.” Joe departed.

Percival turned back to Scarlet. “Tell you what, even if we don't get anybody else, you can bring your umbreon out against my pokemon. You two,” he turned to Burner and Alice, “should take care of Joe.”

Alice disagreed. “Actually, I would like to talk with him, alone, B. Go to the park, be a show off, and get swarmed by all the girls for me.”

Scarlet arched an eyebrow. “Protective?”

Alice cast her a smirk. “That way, when he comes home he can tell me how many of them were disappointed when he told them he was taken.” The lucario left with a skip in her step intending to catch up with Joe.

Percival released his bicycle. “Alright, I'm going to get my team and do some shopping. Meet at the park in an hour and a half?” Receiving a nod, he rode away.

Scarlet and Burner stood in silence for a moment. The latter broke it. “Shall I escort you?”

Two blocks passed behind them before Scarlet spoke. “Joe's mad at me. It's because I tricked his gar—uh, Grace, isn't it.”

“She left.”

Scarlet paused for two steps, then caught them up. “Wait, what? She teleported away that day, but she was back the next day. We did… something together. I thought we were cool.”

“She came back, but she was different after that. She seemed confused at first, then she said that she had a strange vision. Grace and Master Joe started arguing about something, then they stopped talking altogether. She slept beside Alice and myself for a couple of nights. Then she was gone. She took a few things with her. We asked the ghost about it but she wouldn't tell us anything. She didn't insult anybody when we asked, either. That part makes me worry.”

“I wasn't trying to—look,” Scarlet took up Burner's left claw, “I've been mad at pokemon, mad at trainers, just, mad, for a long time. But, I don't like hurting people. I treated you and Grace as ‘just pokemon’ because that made it easier to be mad at all of you; I wouldn't have to make exceptions. And, I knew if I started making exceptions, the only exception would be the few that weren't exceptions.”

Burner cocked his head a little.

“Marianne did something with me: she helped me have a dream about what happened and made me mad, and helped me through some things about it. Not all of them, but some. Grace helped me through some more and I thought we were okay after that. If something else happened, I'm sorry; if there's something I can do, tell me.”

Burner began walking again. “Give me time to think of the good words.”

Together they arrived at the Foley residence. Entering, Scarlet called out, “Dad, I'm home!”

Martin spoke before emerging from his home-office. “Happy to hear it, Mouse! Did you make any new—” His words died when he saw what his daughter brought home with her.

“Master Foley,” Burner spoke with a nod and slight bow.

Scarlet spoke from around a hallway corner, “I'm going back out for a few hours, okay?”

“Yeah, but,” Martin redirected his attention to the blaziken.

“I belong to Master Joe Rainier, your daughter's partner in classwork.”

Martin smirked a little and stepped forward. “A fine specimen, if I do say so myself. I'm no expert, but I've done work for a few. Tell me, do you know anything about your bloodline?”

Scarlet searched around for the pokeball she had bought and used a day before. She was certain of where she had left it, and it was not there now, so unless somebody moved it… how did it get there? Scarlet caught a glimpse of it half hidden by shadow near a leg of her bed. “Thought you could get away from me?” she joked to herself. Within, a bundle of energy managed a chuckle.

When Scarlet returned to her home's entryway, she found her father and their guest in the midst of conversation. “…soon it got so bad for attendance and bookies that the League banned all of her fully-evolved descendants for a season. That killed the fad, but if your trainer gets enough badges, you're going to start meeting a few sorta-half-siblings for sure.” Martin turned around as his daughter approached. “You know you've got a member of the royal family standing here, right?”

“Yes,” Scarlet grunted and rolled her eyes, “I'm going, now.” She left her home.

Martin sighed. “That girl was really into pokemon when she was a squirt; made pets of a dozen wild ones in the backyard where we used to live. But, shit happens. I've gotta teleconference before my absence rattles the investors. Pleasure to meet you; hey, one last thing. Your trainer, is he a good kid?”

“The best,” Burner confirmed with a sharpened cluck.

“Clearly biased, but without hesitation. That's good enough for me. Get out there and blaze-kick something.”

Burner exited and Martin returned to his terminal, where, through a video feed, a board of directors waited anxiously.

* * *

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Joe let Alice enter first. She had not said a word since she caught up with him. She patted the love-seat as she passed it, indicatively. He sat and watched as she went to the kitchen and returned with drinks. Offering Joe one, she sat beside him, took a deep breath, held it, and released it very slowly with a gentle vocalization.

“I don't want to talk about this. I—it's so embarrassing, but…” Alice trailed off, glanced at the coffee table, and fidgeted.

Joe cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

Alice shook her head side to side forcefully, swinging her antennae wide and hard enough that they collided with each other making faint slapping sounds. “I've been doing things I don't want to do. To see Daddy, I have to get special permission from a particular person. To get him to do me a favor, I have to do him a favor, and every time it's a little bigger. I'm a shrewd negotiator, but every inch I've had to give I can't take back. Now I'm at the line that I promised myself I wouldn't cross.”

Joe shifted uncomfortably. “I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

Alice sensed his half-lie and dispelled it. “Remember the movie we saw a few weeks ago? With the blonde woman who…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you've—”

“No! Not—that. But, after my next scheduled visitation, if I want to schedule another—that.”

Joe shifted again. “Maybe this is something you should talk to Dad about. I mean, I don't really know anything about this; that sorta thing.”

Alice took his left hand. “I don't need to discuss it, really. I know what is right, I know I've gone too far already, and also know I wouldn't un-do what I've done because Daddy is worth it to me. Everything up to this. I don't need to discuss this. I just need to know that you support me; that you will support me, after I tell him that I won't be able to see him again, until…”

Joe placed his right arm across her shoulders. She leaned toward him a little. “How long is he going to be in there?”

“They sentenced him to twenty, total. He would be eligible for parole at some point, but my insider's information indicates that it's not going to happen; not unless I become completely cooperative.”

“So it's more than telling him you won't be able to visit him anymore.”

“I haven't told Burner about any of this. Well, not the details. He knows what he's figured out, which is enough to know that something's wrong but not enough to do anything about it except to notice when I need his warmth. I guess that's really what I need to talk to you about. If you're willing to tell me, has he said anything to you about this?”

Joe shook his head. “He's been kinda quiet lately, actually. But you've both been pretty down since the house thing, and the Scarlet thing, so I thought it'd be best not to bring it up.”

“Scarlet. I feel bad for her. I—uh, anyway, it's weird but because Daddy raised me like a human, mostly, and I have a human perspective on things… like fidelity. The things I've done I did because I felt like it was worth it, and that I wasn't actually doing anything, so I figured that B wouldn't really mind as long as I always came home okay. But now that this has come right up to the limit, I realize how close I've come to crossing it, and now that B's wanting our relationship to become everything it can be, and in a human way, I feel… uhm, like I've already crossed it.”

Joe gripped the bulk of her right shoulder, squeezing and massaging it gently. “I kinda think I know what I should say, but I'm not sure if it'll sound right to you. So, I guess I'll just say this: We all love you, and we'll be okay.”

Alice returned his squeeze upon his left hand. “I can't know if you're right, but that sounds good to me.” She released that grip, turned, climbed completely into the love-seat, and drew Joe into a hug. “Scarlet's aura and yours react in a complicated way. That's not good, and that's not bad. Be careful, though, because you're younger and less worldly than I am, so you might not see that sort of line coming.”

“Two things,” Joe asked as Alice let him loose, “one, what makes you think there's anything between Scarlet and me? and two, you're older than I am?”

“Just a little. I told you I was a riolu for a long time. As for Scarlet, well, she's obviously not becoming a smaller part of your life now that your project is over, right?”

“I'm not going to start a fight over her being at the park. She got a pokemon, she needs to train it, that's the place to do it. And, I just won't be there when she is.”

Alice tilted her head down a bit and poked him with her gaze. “You're going to avoid her for the rest of the year, and as a junior and as a senior if you wind up sharing classes then, too?”

“Classes will be chance, but the park: I don't need to go. Burner practices when he wants to and I don't have any other pokemon who need to train there.”

Alice tilted her head up a bit and rolled her eyes dismissively. “Oh, so, you're going to play video games all the time instead of socializing?”

Joe gently pushed Alice away from himself. “Maybe.”

She smirked at him and resettled against the cushion before her grin faded. “Don't waste your youth. You're growing up faster than you realize. That happened to me, even though I actually physically grew very slowly.”

Unexpected noises in the kitchen got their attention in time to glimpse a purple wisp coasting around.

“Marianne, what are you doing?” Joe asked from afar.

Another noise. “Oooooo, nothin'!” she admitted.

“Seriously,” Joe asked again with a hint of James' tone, “what are you doing?”

One more sound accompanied an annoyed vocalization before she emerged and came before Joe and Alice. “I'm arranging things to make your father really upset.”

“You're hiding the keys to the liqueur cabinet, stealing the batteries from the remote control, and turning the silverware so the forks point at the front of the drawer?”

Marianne scoffed, Alice hummed inquisitively.

Joe blushed a little. “The first time I did the dishes all by myself, I didn't put all the utensils in the same way. I learned.”

Marianne muttered, “Those aren't bad ideas,” while she floated about without any obvious direction.

That got Joe's attention. “What is it, Marianne?”

The ghost whipped her two primary tendrils behind herself and glanced at the ceiling. “I'm not sure if this is the right thing to do.”

Alice perked up, sympathetically and re-positioned in her seat. “You're up against a hard decision, too, today?”

Marianne drifted down onto the armrest. “It's no skin off of my nose—no nose, no skin. I'm not sure the timing is right, is all.”

Joe became nervous. “Timing for what?”

Marianne shifted again, making it look like she was leaning on an elbow against the back of the love-seat, except she was leaning away from the love-seat's back. “For upsetting the entire household. The emotion sponge being awol makes this seem like the right time in one way, but I'm not sure if James is feeling up to it. Then again, I don't think waiting will help; might make it worse.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “I wish I knew for sure what you were talking about. You think you're being mysterious and intriguing, but you're just being annoying. Look, I know there's something wrong with Dad. Every time he says you've been feeding off his dreams too much and that's why he's not well, he also has a problem with a shaving nick that won't stop bleeding. Or, a paper cut, whatever. It stopped happening for a while, but now it's happening again. I know something's wrong. I looked it up. Is it what I think it is?”

Marianne elevated. “That… that's not what I'm talking about.”

Alice took up Joe's left hand again, her ears having fallen flat. “You know it is, Joe.”

Joe muttered a curse and started to lean over. Alice caught his forehead with her own as she moved to comfort him. Marianne floated back into the ceiling; her nature was to be the cause of upset, and this was not the right time.

* * *

  
“Did it just flip her off?” Solymar asked with a brewing bellyful of chuckles. She was not sure which was more amusing: How the umbreon expressed its disobedience to its owner, or how it casually evaded Petunia's attacks and responded with dismissive counterattacks. Terrance only brought three antidotes, and the umbreon seemed to be able to cast toxic in its sleep. Scarlet's frustration reached a maximum. “Fine, do whatever you want, just win the fight!” she shouted. The umbreon looked up toward Scarlet, raised one paw to Petunia's nose level—catching the linoone's tackle well enough that all of her momentum went into making both pokemon slide across the grass for a meter—and then, after shoving Petunia's exhausted and enervated body aside, Idis trotted to the broken line of paint, sat beside it, and placed her left paw upon one marked blade of grass.

“Willful out, one point against the challenger,” announced Matthew before petitioning Terrance for twenty quatloos.

Idis trotted toward Scarlet, who complained enthusiastically about the umbreon's performance, but it passed by its current owner to instead stand upon a pile of red feathers lying in the grass beside the concrete picnic table. “Is this your first time being badly poisoned?” she asked in their shared tongue.

Burner grumbled, gurgled, and grunted.

Idis intended to say something consoling, but Scarlet recalled her first.

Solymar shifted aside with a frown as Scarlet imposed to sit on the end of the concrete seating.

Scarlet crossed her legs and placed Idis's ball upon one kneecap as she spoke. “I thought pokemon were naturally obedient.”

Terrance stroked Petunia gently as she suffered through the poison, as he was now out of meds. “They usually are, although some don't like being traded to a less-experienced trainer.”

Solymar added, “It probably wants to go home, or free. It's obviously telling you something, even if it isn't wasting words on you.”

“Words? It doesn't talk.”

“I think it can,” Solymar replied, “and if you release it we can find out for sure.”

Scarlet released Idis. The umbreon sat on the grass and scratched behind its left ear with a hind leg as though an insect or an itch was bothering it.

Solymar leaned forward while everyone else at the table, save Percival, looked on. “One-hundred-twenty-four underwear gallop felt chronograph tellingly bang.”

Idis shook her head and squinted a little.

“Positive,” proclaimed Solymar as she leaned back. “A mute pokemon understands what we say well enough that it'd know that sentence was nonsense, but that'd just get a head tilt. This little one tried to make sense of it.” She glanced around at her audience with a prideful, self-impressed aura about her.

Idis recognized that this girl could be fun, and trouble. “I guess you sussed me out,” Idis said as she approached Solymar. “Next time I find a secret about you, I'll be sure to share.”

Solymar laughed, clearly defensively, “Are you threatening me with extortion?”

Idis sat on Solymar's feet, leaning against her legs like a cat. She even purred before replying, “Not yet.”

“Komo!” Solymar shouted, despite her machoke being not more than two meters away, seated on the other side of the table, “Twist this nuisance into a pretzel.”

As he turned about to rise, Idis leapt up onto Solymar. The impact pressed her back against the hard table and her weight bent Solymar over its surface painfully. “Don't move,” Idis hissed, flexing her claws against Solymar's neck as she brought her nose against the girl's. “And don't ever threaten me. Do you understand that well enough to know that I'm not talking nonsense?”

“Uhhh—huh,” Solymar whimpered.

“It's good that we understand each other, now—”

After a few fumbles of the ball, Scarlet got Idis returned.

“Lock it in!” Solymar shouted.

The ball jostled in Scarlet's hands until Solymar snatched it and rotated the ring around its button. “You gotta get rid of that umbreon.” Solymar returned the ball to Scarlet.

Terrance leaned over and checked Solymar's neck. There were marks but the skin was not broken. “Well, at least you gotta do something about it. It's clearly out of your control.”

The ball jostled again. Scarlet looked at it and squeezed it between her palms to steady it. “I've never seen wild pokemon do something like that.”

Solymar pulled out her compact and examined the damage for herself as best she could. “Wild pokemon don't; even the Dark-types would rather trick you than fight you—everybody knows they crumple under kung fu. Only evil pokemon do things like that. It needs to be put down. If a pokemon goes for the neck on a human, it's just a matter of time.”

Percival, who had been fully engrossed in his trainer's device's combat simulator, suddenly looked up and around as those words struck his ear. Then he turned to his left and looked at Sam.

Sam was seated as though in meditation, soaking up rays, apparently even more oblivious to what was happening than Percival had been. As Percival looked away, Sam opened his right eye for a second and closed it again.

* * *

  
Considering the weight of the situation, Joe was handling it quite well. Then again, deep inside he had already gone through the shock and the coming to terms with the matter in a protracted way; all that remained was letting the pressure out. The first thing that came to his mind introspectively was that he now relied on Alice, who an hour before came to him for support. She led him by his hand back into the living room from the bathroom and sat him down.

“Are you going to be able to pull it together?” Alice asked, lifting his chin with her paw, “Dada will be upset if we let him know we know what he knows we know.”

“I think so,” Joe said before sniffling sharply. “What's that phrase, ‘stiff upper lip’?”

Alice's face flashed a couple of emotions. “Yeah. But try not to remind me of that. Bad times.”

They sat together in silence till Burner arrived home. Walking off its primary effects helped, but Idis's poison still had him off-balance. Alice whispered something to Joe, left the couch, and guided Burner through the beads and into their room.

Joe was not privy to their conversation, but he could tell which part was about what Alice had been doing to see her daddy, and which part was about James' health condition. Marianne seemed restless, dipping through the ceiling intermittently. Joe turned to lie across the love-seat for a while, enjoying a period of quiet, until all of the beads were swept aside. He looked across the living room and saw Burner, wrists alight, stomp out of the house.

Alice timidly appeared among the swinging beads. “He didn't take it as well as I had hoped. I think we need to stop him, but I don't know how.” She approached the window. He was now jogging. “I don't think we can catch up with him. He's so fast once he gets moving.”

Marianne swept through the living room, “Way to give up, kids.” She punched through a number of walls and spooked one of the less familiar neighbors as she cut a straight line to Percival's room. Therein, she addressed one of that room's residents. “Burner's headed to the rich side of town. You should stop him.”

Sam squinted at her and looked back to his book.

“It's all you, Scrub Brush; if you don't catch up with him, nobody can. I'll make it worth your while. HEY! Go stop him from getting himself and Joe into deep shit.”

Sam squinted at her again, and tried to look back to his book, but she covered its text with her tendrils.

“Why should I?”

“Because you're his mentor.” She wrenched his book away and tossed it across the room.

“Was. You were there when that ended.”

Marianne slumped over him. “You let him down, and he hasn't been the same ever since. He needs you, Sam. Right now.”

Sam barged through the hallway, shoving Percival aside as he emerged from the bathroom. Frankie looked around the corner from behind them, and kept Li'l Sis from coming around it. He ignored Delilah's question of where he thought he was going; not only for a lack of time to explain and a sense of duty but because he truly did not know. He squinted and saw a fuzzy red figure in the distance. He ran.

* * *

  
Idis whimpered, cornered in what she had hoped was a hiding place, although it was merely a gap between the clothes dryer and the wall; a laundry basket served as a screen.

Martin was totally buying it. “Yeah, that's a real killer.” He knelt beside the basket. Idis flashed her rings and slicked herself with bilious ichor. “Aw, come on. Nobody's going to hurt you.” Idis pulled back again, as far as she could. “We'll leave you alone for a little bit, and when you're ready to come out, we'll give you something to eat, okay?”

Idis lowered her head and made a sound.

Martin stood and glared at Scarlet, pushing her back with his gaze. He left the garage and closed its door partially, so the place would be dark and quiet but the umbreon would be able to nudge the door open and enter the home at will. “What do you think made this pokemon act like this?”

“It's a trick, Dad. That pokemon pretended to be a mute, then when one of the girls at the park called it out, it jumped her and could've clawed her throat open. ”

“Right. It doesn't look ready to claw its way out of a damp paper sack. I know you're used to them coming up to you ready to play, but this one obviously needs to warm up a little, so let it. Whatever it's been through—”

Idis could no longer hear Martin speaking for want of proximity. Deciding that she would not emerge until all had gone to bed, she dragged a stray towel into the crevice, wriggled into the most comfortable position she could manage, and decided to nap for a few hours.

“—in its ball. I mean—”

“No, I forbid it,” Martin said forcefully, interrupting his daughter. “Balling it won't help that pokemon any. It'll just show it that you don't care, and I know you do or you wouldn't have captured it.”

Scarlet almost replied, but dummied up.

“That friend of yours must know how to handle pokemon with attitude if he can keep that blaziken of his in line, maybe he can help you with this one?”

Scarlet muttered something inaudible at first, and then repeated it clearly when Martin demanded she speak up. “I said: I don't think he wants to see me coming around.”

Martin pulled the handle of his recliner chair. Its mechanism clanged as its footrest emerged. “Did you piss him off?”

“He's blaming me because one of his pokemon bailed on him and I guess he thinks it's my fault because I didn't get along with it for a while.”

“Why not?”

“Psychic-type.”

Martin stared her down again.

“Gardevoir.”

Martin returned to a typical recliner posture and exhaled slowly. “I see.”

* * *

  
Blaring horns and squealing tires alerted Burner to what was catching up with him. When Sam ran, he disregarded traffic signals. Indeed, he carried so much momentum that he almost could not stop, and Burner caught him as he otherwise would have overshot his target. Instead, they toppled and tumbled once along the sidewalk. With some disoriented effort, they partially stood and partially disentangled.

The lizard spoke first. “Your ghost, Mary, sent me to stop you.”

Burner stood up straight and defiantly. “This does not concern her.”

Sam followed Burner. “She is concerned. Why?”

The blaziken hesitated briefly but continued on his way.

“Burner, where are you going, and to what purpose?” Sam grabbed Burner's left arm.

Burner turned and tried to yank it away, but Sam held him fast. “I'm going to talk to a man who has been abusing Alice.”

Sam looked around and recognized the colors of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant's sign a block and a half away. The sign featured a welcoming pokeball emblem. “Not until after you talk to me about it.”

Burner resisted as Sam yanked his arm to lead him down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. “This doesn't concern you, either.”

Sam looked back at Burner. “I am concerned. Mary is concerned. Alice is probably concerned, too. Will you neglect us all?”

* * *

  
Waiting for James to return home felt like a prison sentence. To Alice that meant something slightly broader than it did to Joe. Sitting on the love-seat and counting the seconds was strangely calming, but when James' automobile pulled into the drive, the placid air dispelled.

James hardly faced forward and cast his keys aside when Joe grappled him, sobbing gently, asking, “Why?” repeatedly, each time with different, omitted, words to follow it. Why didn't he come clean, why did he keep it a secret, why did he spend money on a swimming pool that could've gone to treatment, why did he tell Alice and swear her to secrecy, why did Marianne get involved, why didn't he trust his son with the truth, and most importantly, why did this have to happen?

James could not answer so many questions implied in words. The best he could manage was to put his arms around his son—and, as always, recognize that his son was markedly taller now than the time before, owing to the infrequency of this interaction between them—and tell him that he loved him, that he did what he thought was best, and that he was sorry for it all.

* * *

  
Onyx tapped his claws against a bedstand in defiant annoyance. Hunter Hague was too busy counting money to care.

“What, you don't think I give a damn about my ‘mission’ anymore, do you?”

Onyx vocalized strangely.

“Screw that. I'm never going back to Ocimene. You can go home if you want to, though. I bet Simon will be happy to see you come home a failure. Actually, you can tell him I'm dead. That's probably best for both of us.”

The raven shook its head.

“Yeah, yeah. I've worn that excuse out. Look, I'll buy you a dusk stone if that'll make you happy. Hell, I could buy you a bunch of them.”

Onyx scoffed.

“What? You like being a little turd?”

Onyx stretched his wings out a little and waved them quickly, then he stretched them out completely and waved them slowly.

Hague activated his trainer's device and confirmed his suspicion. “Evolution brings your speed down. Okay, but, your power comes up.” He turned the T.D. to show the bird a bar graph on its screen. “You can't hardly fight for shit right now, so—”

With a cry that sounded like a curse, Onyx hopped onto Hague's left shoulder, then hopped again to grip one of the man's fingers with his talons and guide Hague through a number of screens on his T.D., explaining for the fool what Onyx could not say.

Hague added up the bill. Large, but manageable, and nothing that his trap-and-flip business could not recover. “If I get you that rock and those T.M.'s, you'll quit giving me attitude?”

Onyx touched the brim of his hat-like crest with the tip of his left wing and nodded.

“Fine, fine, we'll go shopping in the morning. Now get some rest. Turd.” Hague turned off the light and then he and Onyx settled into their respective places.

* * *

  
They had survived dinner and a sense of normalcy seemed to spread throughout the Rainier home. Indeed, nothing had actually changed. James was still riding a slow decline of health, Joe was still sitting beside an empty chair, Alice was still facing the end of her visitations to Palmitoy Penitentiary, Burner was still very upset with the cost exacted by those trips, and Marianne was still lurking just above the ceiling. If anything, the air had been cleared and the weight that they bore felt a little lighter, now. But, only a little. The problem was that the answers to those questions did not resolve any parts of their issues. The elephant in the room stood motionless; talking about it fixed nothing. Secrecy was an insulation that covered a naked fact that none of them actually wanted to gaze upon.

Uncomfortable hemming and hawing abounded as each member of the family sought a way to change the topic without making it obvious that they were trying to change the topic. All failed. They needed a new problem that would overshadow an absent member and the disease of another.

Whenever a problem needed creating, Marianne sensed her calling. She seeped through the ceiling and looked around. Everyone was in the living room, seated in something of a loose circle, staring blankly at the television. She came before James with a nervous expression. “J.R.?”

“Ghost?” James replied without turning his attention to her.

“Condition 1: I get to make it worse. Condition 4: You own up to this.”

“Gho—Marianne, you said—”

She silenced him with a tendril. “It's time. I did what I could to make it easier. You're welcome.”

Joe watched her drift away, switch off the television, and visit the kitchen. “Dad, what is she talking about?”

James' face shifted to an expression of shame and regret more intense than anything Joe had seen from him. Alice sensed even more-fearful colors in his aura. Marianne emerged carrying a box, which she placed squarely on the coffee table after sweeping it clean of the clutter that was upon it. She opened the box and withdrew his sash from a years-past try at the League. Spreading it out flat, the badges' pin backs sang as they slid across the table surface.

Joe's jaw dropped. “Dad, you were in League and you never told me?”

Burner canted his head.

“It was just for one summer.”

Joe looked alternatively at his father, the sash, and the pokemon in the room. “So you got some pokemon, got three badges, and then let them go?”

James looked away, toward the front window. “Something like that. I kept one when I went into the service, but he moved on before I got out.”

“Annnnnnd,” Marianne inflected in a leading way.

“Don't do this,” James whispered, “Marianne,” he pronounced with deliberate perfection and averted eyes, “please, don't do this.”

Marianne slashed a tendril through the box, catching and propelling a pokeball from within into James' lap. She lifted the coffee table up a bit and dragged it aside to create an open space before him. “Push the button, or I will.”

“Dad,” Joe asked with a wavering voice, “you've had… you've always had a pokemon?”

James shut his eyes and pursed his lips. He squinted harder when he heard Marianne repeat herself. “Not here.” He stood and left the room, pacing to the hallway toward his bedroom.

Marianne went through the wall and returned three seconds afterward, dragging James through with her. “Here. That ball hasn't been opened in over a decade. We're not going to miss this special occasion.”

She stood him up before the nonplussed group and hovered above the cushion where he recently sat.

“Marianne, I hate you.”

“Not as much as you hate yourself. That's why we're going to make this right, right now.” The ghost floated through the ceiling.

James raised his arm, slid his thumb around the ball's locking ring, and depressed its button.

Before a meter-tall form took its final shape and ceased to glow, all could tell that its pose was defensive, that of someone about to be struck. Becoming animated, its suspended motion continued into a partial crouch and a shivering whimper. The incoming blow never connected because a long time ago, James made a hard decision. He had done what he thought was best. Nel cautiously lowered her arms and opened her eyes. They met with James'. She made a sound and tried to step toward him, but collapsed. James knelt and snaked his hands beneath her arms and pulled her up. She whistled faintly, convulsed in his arms, and collapsed again.

“A decade…” Alice muttered.

Marianne descended beside her, holding a white book with a padded cover. Flipping it open, she indicated one photo in particular. “That's the last one with both her and Baby Joey, so I'm guessing he was just old enough to rat the rugs when J.R. put her away.”

Alice glanced at the photo album for a moment and shoved it away. She started walking for the door, but looked at James the whole way. “I once told Sis she was wrong about you. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

Burner asked where she was going in their own language, and followed her out when she ignored his question.

Joe left the couch, crouched beside the orange-furred body, and ran his fingers through its pelt. “Dad… I can't believe this. You had a pokemon all this time, and you locked it in a ball and I don't know, kept it in storage all this—all my life? Is that why you didn't want me to have a pokemon; because you were afraid I would treat one like you did?”

James hefted up his floatzel and carried her off to lay her upon his bed.

“Answer me, Dad!” Joe shouted as he pursued James.

James checked Nel's pulse and breathing; both were faint but steady. “Your mother was drunk. She had a baseball bat—a silly he'll-grow-into-it present for you—and she was angry at Nel. She was jealous, really. When you would fuss or cry, she couldn't get you to stop, but Nel would make you giggle and calm down in no time. She'd been hostile to Nel ever since she noticed that and since… since I told Nel never to fight back. I didn't want it to come to this. The first couple swings were misses and only broke some of her own stuff, but Nel got cornered and Beverly lifted the bat up to the ceiling. That's when I recalled her. I took her to the pokecenter, and I was going to release her, but I couldn't go through with it. Nel was a gift, sorta. Really, a duty; a charge. She was given to me by somebody who trusted me to give her a proper home—the home she deserved—not like the three she had before I got her. I didn't want to fail her, I didn't want to fail my wife, I didn't want to fail my boy, and I didn't want to fail Nelson. So, I rented her a powered safe deposit so she could sleep and dream until things settled down. After your mother decided to start over and left us, I realized that things hadn't settled down; they just got messed up in different ways. I couldn't bring Nel back; she couldn't replace your mother, but I knew she would try in every way she could. That wouldn't be healthy for any of us. So I left her in. And, year after year, it was easier and easier to leave the bad memories in the past.” He turned around and sat on the foot of his bed. “I brought her home when you got your pokemon. I thought it would be good to give her to you. You had a ralts and—and you know how I felt about that—and a male torchic; I knew I could trust that one to protect you, but to care about… to care for you, that's a little different. Nel loved you because of who you were, not because of Psychic-type bonds or a starter's sense of duty. It seemed like the right time. I came home that day to learn that Burner took off and I wasn't sure if the other one would run away too or if you would want to bother with pokemon once you learned how much trouble they can be. When I realized that my worst fears, that the ralts would become your enemy, were not coming true, but that my second-worst fears, including that it would take over your emotional life, were coming true, I didn't want to complicate things by letting Nel out. But, your spectre is right. Now's the time. If this cancer decides to stop playing a good parasite and kill its host, you don't need this surprising you.” James offered to Joe Nel's ball.

“No, Dad,” Joe croaked, “she's your pokemon; she's your responsibility. You take care of her. You wouldn't let me get away with anything less.”

James smiled. “I'm proud of you, Son.”

“…Dad, I…”

James stood and hugged his boy. It had only been a matter of hours, but he nonetheless seemed a little taller.

Nel twisted her body a little and opened her left eye.

She smiled.

The scary-looking man had told her the truth: If she was patient with her new master, they would one day share a wonderful happiness.

* * *

  
Alice sat beneath the I–Z bridge, visible at a distance only by the orange puffs that occasionally burst from her companion as he stewed. Burner felt powerless, which annoyed him greatly. Sam was right: picking a fight with Alice's influential client would cost her her final visitation and likely cause for his entire family a kind of trouble that they could not handle. He did not know what to think about James. He knew that James trusted him with the peripheral knowledge of how he “took care” of the Nel situation, but seeing it in the flesh changed his impression of it all. He resigned to keep Alice company. She would say things from time to time. He would nod and grunt a confirmation that he heard her. That was all she needed from him.

“All those years in a ball,” Alice spoke, eventually, “and he didn't care about her. I thought my read of him was right, I thought I couldn't be so wrong. Sis knew better. My aura sense can't be trusted.” She sobbed. “I'm sorry, Daddy.” She captured Burner's attention. “I'm sorry I told you you could trust me.”

Burner reached out to touch her. She yelped and turned to fall into his embrace. “It's all my fault, B. Daddy let down his guard because I asked him to, because I thought I was ready, because I thought I could do anything. I was so wrong. I was wrong about everything. I was wrong about my senses, I was wrong about my house, I was wrong about believing that James loved his pokemon and just didn't let it show, I was wrong to think that I could handle that nasty old man, I was wrong to tell Sis that if she felt she needed to find something she should go… I'm always wrong. Why, B? I try so hard; why do I always get everything wrong?” She banged her fists against his body in vent of frustration.

Burner held her tightly. “Do you think you were wrong when you ate my Halloween candy?”

Alice sniffled. “That wasn't my decision. That was the advice of a wise old sage with a psychic pokemon that I got in the same kind of box, the same night.”

“That candy came from…” Burner manhandled Alice to carry her down the slope of the embankment beneath the bridge. “We will visit the sage, then, and see if he can answer your question.”

* * *

  



	22. Conclusions

  


* * *

  
Love Lost, Chapter 22: Conclusions.

* * *

  
After circumventing a front gate, Grace telepathically operated a door's knocker while ringing the call bell. She felt tired and impatient. She felt a force gently shove her and her button-pushing finger away from the landing a moment before the door opened only wide enough for a gardevoir's head to emerge.

It projected an annoyed emotion. “This is private property and no appointments are scheduled. What is your business here?”

Grace glanced downward as a humble gesture. “I'm not exactly sure, but I think my parents were here, or near here, a long time ago.”

A distant voice within the villa cried out, “Vivian! Why do you stop playing my piano?”

Vivian projected a message into the home, and then another for Grace. “What do you know of these parents you seek?”

“Not much, but I think my mother showed me some things so I could find out about them. May I come in and look around, and see if this is the house she made me remember?”

Vivian sized up Grace. She was not much of a threat, but a little intimidation would not hurt. “You may have a minute. Do not attempt to create trouble; a ghost lives here and he is merciless.”

Grace entered and looked around. Although her visions of the foyer were vague and distant, the kitchen and living room were inarguable matches. She felt as drawn to the window overlooking the lake as she remembered her mother having been. Although a few new homes appeared around its rim, the landscape overall was so familiar that she no longer felt her mother's communicated experience as anyone's but her own. The sense of deja vu distracted Grace until she noticed Vivian's reflection in the glass, and turned to see him sit before the piano. He began playing a tune.

The intrusive gardevoir in Grace's visions played it for her once before. She drifted to the piano and interrupted his performance. “I'm sorry, but, tell me if you know a tune that goes like this.” She played eight notes a few octaves below where they belonged.

Vivian put his left hand upon her right, stopping her before she could repeat the motif. “You should leave. Your father will become very upset if he sees you here.”

Grace's face contorted with shocked disappointment. “W-huh—but, why?”

“Because he betrayed our master to give your mother escape. He gave you to her so a part of himself could be free. That you return will disappoint him; in his fantasies, you two traveled so far from this place that you would never be found by anyone. That is his dream.”

Looking around and sensing the area, Grace found a human upstairs, and a shadowy form stood near it. She whispered, “Do you need help to escape?”

Vivian began playing once more, gently. “I am satisfied with my work and my home. The ghost is not, but he is bound by his oath.” The tune continued for a few bars, unnaturally shifted into a more somber mode. “You will not leave without meeting him, and since his involvement was the weight behind my warning you not to cause an incident, you will not go quietly if I were to try removing you, no?”

Grace nodded in affirmation; unnecessarily, as Vivian easily felt her re-committing herself to her cause when he noted their situation.

“Play in my stead, I will summon him alone. Our master is not feeling well and shall not be disturbed. It is best that he doesn't know that you were created.”

Slipping into position on the piano bench as Vivian slipped off of it, Grace's playing was clumsy and spontaneous but somehow somewhat guided. She watched Vivian float upstairs and vanish. She played on, finding fragments that sounded okay. The back of her mind monitored the motion of a shadow as it approached, becoming larger for proximity, until it occluded nearly everything behind her. She stopped playing in the middle of a measure. She could not bear to turn and look; she knew what he looked like.

“My mother wanted me to find you.”

“You have. Now what?” asked the dusclops.

She swallowed hard. “Can I ask you some questions?”

“You may.”

“Was she as unhappy here as the memories she gave me make it seem?”

“I never saw her truly happy, but that was not because she found sadness here. She brought it with her.”

Grace tried to recall her mother's memories in reverse order, but could not reach before the train station. “Did she tell you anything about what happened to her before she came here?”

“Nothing.”

Grace leaned forward over the keys and let her head hang. Fouroughs placed his large right palm upon her shoulder. She reached across herself with her left hand and captured it. “Don't you want to know about what we, she, did after she left here?”

“No. I do not want to feel a jealousy toward stories of her and my offspring.”

Grace let a tear drop from one eye. The coldness she felt beneath her palm was so intense she would not have been surprised if it froze that tear before it landed on her skirt. “Don't you want to know about me? Don't you care at all?”

“I do. Is my daughter truly happy when she is where she calls home?”

Thinking it over with great determination, Grace choked up a little. “Yes. Even when everything's going wrong.”

“Go home, my daughter. You have given me what your mother sent you to deliver.”

Fouroughs placed his other palm upon Grace's, leaned forward, kissed her—as best an ambiguously-mouthed mummy could—on the back of her head for a moment, and shortly thereafter pulled away.

Grace leaned back, struggling to maintain their already-broken contact.

“Did you love my mother?” Grace asked toward the ceiling.

“I am a ghost.” He realized that for a Psychic-type, he was not saying enough. “I would have haunted her until the day she died.”

Grace whimpered. “It was last year, late August.”

Fouroughs walked away, returning upstairs, pausing at the top of the flight. “She has not seen fit to haunt me.”

Pierre complained again about the lack of live music after a few minutes of Grace sitting at the piano, motionless. Vivian excused himself and returned to the great room.

“Unless you intend to remain, now is a proper time to depart.” He conveyed Grace back to the foyer to see her out.

“Um, can I ask you something that will sound really strange?”

Vivian assented with barely a nod.

“I don't know much about… us. Can a gardevoir project itself mentally into another gardevoir's mind, and appear like a person in a dream? Then, have conversations with that gardevoir or make it see visions of stuff?”

“The projections that we normally create in another through physical contact, without physical contact, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Vivian thought back. “Excluding help from technology that I've only heard rumors of, the projecting gardevoir would need a very intimate connection with the other. The unique bond, or a long-standing close relationship, like that of mates, to become so well synchronized that one could appear to the other remotely.”

“The unique bond… would that work with a human?”

Vivian's expression turned sullen as he knew he would disappoint her. “No. You could target the human with a sensation, but anything more than a single emotional feeling would be confusing or painful.”

“You are a male gardevoir, right?”

Vivian's gills flushed. “If you are soliciting me, you should know that I—”

“No! Well, no.” Grace turned at an angle and, spreading her fingers, stretched her arms downward.

Vivian stroked her left gills and she shuddered, becoming equally flush as she felt him capture a glimpse of her thoughts.

“You have given your bond to a human. It cannot be returned and cannot be as it would be had you selected one of our kind. Do not let regret for something you will never experience poison what you will always experience, or you may then have a loss worthy of regret. When the thoughts shared between you are of each other only, you will know that you feel what your instinct seeks. The nature of your bond only determines what challenge you must overcome to receive that reward.”

Grace regained her composure, although her stance was shaky. A little levitation helped to mask that. “He knows a human girl. He doesn't realize it, but subconsciously, he thinks of her when he thinks of things that young men can't help but think of once they quit being mere boys. I'm scared.”

Vivian stepped back into his home's doorway. “Will you always be there for him?”

“Yes,” she piped with a nod.

“You aren't right now.”

“I want to be. I—I will be. I will be, soon.”

“Does he realize that, all the way down?”

Grace hesitated.

“Close your eyes, open your mind, recall your deepest connection before you came here. Reach to the bottom.”

After a moment, Grace's eyes opened, and shined with a brilliant green contrasting the warm tones that the setting sun surrounded her with. “I think—”

“Don't think, Gardevoir. Feel. Feel the memory completely.”

“He—he's afraid of being unable to do what he is supposed to do.” She blinked three times and fell to her feet.

Vivian shook his head. “Go home, daughter of the one who could not be tamed, and come what may, be satisfied by the happiness you told your father awaits you.” Vivian shut the door gently.

Leaving Pierre's villa behind, Grace walked slowly along a trail that she hoped would quickly return her to the main route. The sun was setting and whenever she stopped to concentrate, she could sense diurnal pokemon seeking shelter and nocturnal pokemon stirring and rising. Imagining fighting, in the dark, with a ghost perhaps, did not bring back good memories. Hoping to save some time and energy, she teleported atop a van that happened to pass by. Using her telekinesis and levitation to aid her, she kept a grip on its luggage rack and enjoyed the bumpy ride without being too severely jostled. Once the vehicle found the paved road, Grace contented herself to rest somewhat, awake enough only to maintain her hold. She hardly noticed when the vehicle stopped, but when several doors opened and shut, she roused and started to rise. A fellow, surely the driver, and the police officer that pulled him over stood beside the vehicle. The officer raised a ball when Grace began moving, and with a red flash among blue flashes coming from the cruiser, Grace vanished. In her stead, her dive ball bounced dully and rolled off of the van's roof.

The lighting array above her was tinted a strange color, one that defied identification or name. Grace sat up and found herself seated upon a platform beneath that array. Hopping down, she found the floor to have a subtle grade in all directions. She began walking. She cleared the rail. She reached the wall. She followed it to the round building. She found two gardevoirs sitting beside its door.

The nearest one reacted only by glancing at her. The second leapt up and floated directly to her. It captured her with a strenuous hug that pressed the tips of their antennae together and somehow caused them to overlap and penetrate each other. The gardevoir made a sound that Grace had not heard in a long time.

“Mom? ‘Sunny’? Is—”

“Shhhh, let me hold you. Let yourself hold me. Now's our last time.”

Their embrace seemed timeless, a befit of their condition. The other gardevoir maintained her glare.

“Mom; I tried. I tried to do what you wanted. I found him, my father, but—”

“What I wanted was for you to be safe. Daughter; I tried. I tried to do what you needed. Did I do okay?”

Grace re-positioned her hands and squeezed a little more tightly. “Yes! But, didn't you want me to find him?”

“No; he already did all that he could for us. But if finding him helped you somehow, then I'm pleased by your success.”

Grace pulled away a little to look at her mother's face. “Why did you give me memories of you and him together in that house if you didn't want me to go back and find him?”

“She wanted you to have them.” Sunny tilted her head to gesture at the other gardevoir, and continued, “so you would someday understand her.”

Grace glanced at the other gardevoir, still scowling, and moved slightly to obscure her with her mother. She whispered, “Who is she?”

Sunny smiled, very faintly. The rest of her expression, however, shifted negatively. “There was a moment in my life that could have gone two ways. One led me to that house, and led you to me. The other I never knew. She,” Sunny glanced behind herself, “she's the gap between them. In a way she's a bridge, in a way she's a void. But what matters is that she promised to be your guardian in a way I could not be. Listen to her, trust her guidance, and accept her help. She will not betray you.” Sunny leaned in very close and spoke very faintly, “But, never let her forget that she is condemned to exist in that gap. If you let her leave it, and if you are not strong enough to face her, she will be reluctant to go back.” She released Grace from her embrace and stepped back a few steps. The other gardevoir rose and stood beside Sunny. “The instant I looked into her eyes when she hatched, I knew that I was blessed with as much as I had lost.”

The other gardevoir grunted.

Sunny shook her head with the slightest possible motion. “I know that hurts your feelings.”

The other gardevoir grunted again.

“Thank you, G.V.; for your sacrifice, for your promise, for this.”

G.V. shrugged. “Are you ready?”

“Grace, whatever the future holds, keep looking forward. When I died, the only regret I had for my time in that house was that I spent so much time not looking forward to meeting you. The only regret I had for my time in the forest was that I was too worried about your future to let you explore your present. And, the only regret I had after I placed you in that human home was…”

Sunny trailed off. G.V. stepped in; literally, she stepped into the position where Sunny stood causing their forms to overlap and unify. “…I assume, that she spent her last moment of peace planning to kill our pursuers instead of imagining your future. I may be wrong, but I've had a lot of time to think about the impression that she left and you retrieved in that wooded lot.”

“How? G.V.?”

G.V. approached. “It's a title, abbreviated.”

“But, what was that? Did you—was that really my mother, or were you—” Grace formed clenched fists and her eyes watered. “Was that another of your projections? Did you create that image to mess with my head again?” Grace charged forward, gripped G.V., and with a primal outcry shoved her back until she collided with the sealed double doors. “Why won't you leave me alone?”

“Your mother told you why: I promised to watch over you. Yes, that was a projection; your mother is dead. But, that was her as much as I am me. You believed that she left you those memories so you would find your father, but you were wrong. She left them so you would have a chance at closure, so she could give you a final message when you were ready for it. I have done that part of my job, and what remains, I am continuing to do.”

Faint echos of voices penetrated the darkness. Grace and G.V. looked around reflexively. The lighting brightened and became distinctly red. “We will speak again, but for now, I want to rest. Just remember, I'm rooting for you, and when you need me, I'll be there for you. Whether you want me to be or not. I'll be there, where you are, always.” The red light became blinding and a sound like an electrical crackle echoed intensely. Grace barely made out G.V.'s last comment: “The promise I made wasn't charity.”

* * *

  
Hers was a minor offense, and Detective Fairbanks happened to hear the notice on his scanner and put in a good word for both Grace and Joe, so their penalty was mostly a matter of protocol: four sessions of a weekly obedience course, a fine that would take a bite out of Joe's League account, and a blemish on Grace's record warning that she is officially known to wander off on her own and illegally hitch-hike. It could have been worse. An officer at Rennin P.D. took Grace's dive ball, placed it in a hopper beside a justice ball, and activated the computer to which they were attached in order to transfer the image from the latter into the former. Signed off and out, Joe turned to exit the building but noticed somebody familiar.

“Detective Palmer?” he asked aloud.

Jacob turned and nodded, not really recognizing the teenager and happy at that, because it meant that he was not a known troublemaker.

“I saw that video you were in. The one about the guys who hurt pokemon, especially gardevoirs. Uh, has it gotten any better since then?”

“I can't talk about on-going investigations.” He stepped away.

“Wait, just one more thing. You told me and a friend of mine to let you know if we had any more information about what happened in the reserve lots last year. Well, I know one thing,” he raised the dive ball he held, “those guys didn't get that gardevoir's daughter.”

It was late in his shift, and Joe's words took a moment to register, but he gave Joe a slight and restrained smile. “I'm thankful for every page I don't have to add to those binders.”

Joe exited the police department, climbed into James' sedan, and held Grace's ball tightly against his chest throughout the ride home.

* * *

  
The Rainier men returned to a seemingly empty house. Burner and Alice had left a note on the coffee table indicating that they would be back in a few days after spending some time alone together and seeing Alice to her appointment at Palmitoy Penitentiary. James continued through to check on Nel, leaving Joe alone to do what he needed to do.

Joe pressed the trigger of the dive ball's button. Grace appeared before him. They looked at each other, eye to eye.

Each took a step forward, raised all of their arms, captured each other's hands, and spoke together in unison: “Things will be different from now on. Things will be better. I'm wholly doubtless.”

* * *

  
Thus ends the first part of this story.

* * *

  



End file.
